


Spawn of Fell

by chaede



Series: Ylisstol Ghoul [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening, Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Relationships, Born Half-Ghoul, Brutal Murder, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Childhood Trauma, Dubious Morality, Emotional Instability, Emotionally Unstable Character, F/M, FIx It, Fictional Religion & Theology, Ghoul Cannibalism (Tokyo Ghoul), Graphic Description, Half-Ghoul Robin, Horror, Implied/Referenced Torture, Interspecies Relationship(s), It's Tokyo Ghoul After All, Moral Ambiguity, Morally Ambiguous Character, Mother-Son Relationship, Past Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rating May Change, Tokyo Ghoul: re, Tragedy, Vomiting, and an arse, chroms racist, who messed up the chrom/male robin tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2018-05-26 22:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 151,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6258067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaede/pseuds/chaede
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An albino boy is found on the wayside with no memories, not even of himself. He soon remembers his name, Robin, but only more mysteries appear.<br/>Why has he got such high senses and unmatched power? Why does food smell horrible to him, yet human flesh delicious?<br/>Why does his left eye turn black and red?<br/>Suitable for readers of (n)either fandom! M for gore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Premonition: Invisible Ties

_The Light runs in front of me, sword raised, yelling at the Shadow. They swing their holy blade, which is blocked by purple and black lightning. They keep up their attempts at landing a hit, distracting the Shadow while I charge up my own spell. The Shadow is about to collapse from the Light's onslaught, when my Thoron spell rips through their chest like a golden spear, and they dissipate into purple smoke. The Light turns to me as the Shadow rears themselves up and shoots one last orb at them. Without thinking of the possible consequences, I push the Light to the side, allowing the dark magic to hit me instead._

_Blank._

_I see the Light running towards me. I can't hear their words. The Shadow is gone. Everything's a blur. Everything aches._

_Blank._

_The sound of flesh and bone being pierced fills my ears, along with a choked grunt of pain. I try so discern the Light's face, but all I see is two sapphire-blue orbs, filled with sorrow and anguish._

_Before those familiar hues disappear, and the Light collapses._

_...What happened?_

_Why do I feel so...elated, as if...a burden had just been lifted...from my shoulders...?_

_Who is...laughing...? Me...?_

_...Why is...everything...going dark... a n d . . . f a d i n g . . . ?_

 


	2. The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

As the images of death, sorrow, and betrayal faded from memory, he languidly began to realise the haziness surrounding his somewhat sentient state, but remained unable to move. Where was he? Could it have been specified as a place at all? He was just floating. In water, in mid-air, he wouldn’t have been able to tell with the tingling numbness filling his body, anyway. He fancied himself able to hear his own blood streaming through his vessels, slowly being pumped by his sluggish heart, and feel his shallow, irregular breaths flowing in and out of his lungs. His limbs were heavy, as if the were filled with stones, and he felt cold, like the voice of death was calling him. Was he even alive? Was he about to die, or be reborn?

"Chrom, we have to do SOMETHING!"

The uncertain voice of a young girl. It was not the sound of a shinigami filling him with the desire to die, or a skeletal grim reaper ready to collect his soul, but one that called him back to life, away from death's door. Air glided more easily in and out of his nose, the scents of trees, grass, a large variety of flowers, and three people, including a rancid male and female, flooding his sinuses.

"What do you propose we do?"

Those words were spoken in a gentle, familiar baritone. They felt incredibly comforting after the endless, voidable silence from before. The numbness was fading, and he could now tell he was laying on his back, grass brushing against his fingertips in the light spring breeze that tickled his skin. He struggled to open his sticky eyelids, reflexively closing them after only a split second of exposure to the blinding sunlight.

"I-I dunno!" stammered the girl.

He groaned lowly as he forced his eyelids apart, finally able to decipher the appearances of the silhouettes looking down at him. To his right was the girl with her sandy-blonde hair in curled pigtails, wearing a yellow dress with a brown leather corset and white apron, a kind smile. She looked like she was in her mid teens, but her pale green eyes reflected a playful streak a little below her apparent age. The young man, only just past the brink of adulthood, was a little different, wearing a navy blue tunic, which lacked a right sleeve, and pantaloons. There was a regal-looking sword at his hip, attached to white belts which crossed over his upper torso, and he had a white cape falling down the entire length of his back, the ends of it worn and tattered, from his silver shoulder guard. His exposed arm showed some kind of mark on his shoulder, just a little darker than his skin. It looked like a tear shape falling into some kind of decorative, rounded cup, and his hair, combed to the right, and eyes were the same colour as his clothing; a deep sapphire-blue.

Noticing he was waking up, the two leaned down a little further, each greeting him with an undeniably warm and friendly smile.

"I see you're awake now," the blue-haired male spoke gently, as if to a terrified deer.

“Hey there,” the girl whispered quietly in the same soft tone. He felt muscles, which he hadn’t realised had been tensed, loosen, and found himself meekly reciprocating that smile.

"There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know!” the man joked, and the girl nodded in agreement with a small giggle. “Give me your hand." The male slowly lowered his own, offering a help up. He hesitantly took it, absentmindedly noting something on his own hand.

He wobbled on his own unsteady legs, and the blue-dressed man had to help balance him by putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He just stopped himself from reeling away from the onslaught of the man’s fetid smell, and managed to keep a straight face.

"You alright?" asked the blue-haired man once he was steady enough to stand by himself.

"Y-yes..." His voice was raspy and his mouth dry, so he cleared his throat before trying to speak again. "Thank you, Chrom."

The man handed him a water skin, and he did not hesitate to greedily gulp down the refreshing liquid, but made a point of handing it back at least half-full with a word of gratitude. The man seemed sceptical, or perhaps concerned, but reattached it to his belt regardless, before something seemed to occur to him.

"So, you know of me?" he asked.

"A-ah, I… N-no, I overheard it...and assumed it was you," the other stammered nervously, wringing his hands under his coat's long sleeves.

The man chuckled quietly. "There's no need to be afraid. Your assumption was correct, as well, I just didn't realise you were already awake at that point," Chrom reassured, squeezing the shorter male's shoulder. "But tell me, what's your name? What brings you here?"

"My name is... It's..." A look of surprise crossed his face as he faltered, and he grasped his head.

It was such a simple question, demanding the simplest of answers--merely a single word would have sufficed. So how come nothing came? It wasn’t like knowing you had the word in your brain, but that it simply couldn't be brought to your tongue. No, it wasn’t even there to begin with. It might as well have not ever existed at all.

But a person with no name was simply unheard of.

"You don't know your own name?" Chrom prompted eventually.

"I'm not sure if..." A pause. "I'm sorry, but... Where am I...exactly?" He looked around, seeing only grassland with a few stray trees in the distance, and a stone path nearby. He could otherwise only sense the wind, the smell of saltwater, and the matching crashing of waves against stone cliffs a few miles away.

"Hey, I've heard of this! It’s called amnesia!" the girl suddenly called out, making him jump.

"It's called a load of pegasus dung,” stated a deep, curt voice. From behind Chrom and the girl, a tall man with messy brown hair, clad in silver and sky-blue armour, and a polished silver lance in his grip, stepped forward. The tall man stared down at the potential amnesiac with a strictly furrowed brow and pointed gaze. He cast a large, dark shadow over the other person, who trembled under it, beads of sweat running down his forehead at the sight of such a distrustful expression. "We're to believe you know milord's name, but not your own?"

"B-but it's the truth!" he blurted out, wide-eyed. Chrom placed his hand on the lance, slowly lowering it until the tip touched the dirt.

"What if it IS true, Frederick? We can't just leave him here, alone and confused. What sort of Shepherds would we be then?" he questioned.

"Just the same, milord," the great knight, Frederick, retorted. "I must emphasise caution. T'would not do to let a wolf into our flock."

"Right then--we'll take him back to town and sort this out there," Chrom decided, and Frederick reluctantly stepped back.

The one in question hadn't calmed throughout the entire conversation. He didn’t know them. Whether they were the only people he could remember or not, for all he knew they could have been plotting to assault or rob him at that very moment, or worse. Although he doubted such low-lifers would refer to anyone as ‘milord’, it could have perhaps only been a ploy to earn the meagre trust he dared offer.

"W-wait a moment! Don't I have a say in this?"

"Peace, friend," Chrom placated. “I promise we'll hear all you have to say back in town. Now come."

He made the suitable gesture, and started walking ahead, the spritely girl right behind him after shooting the stranger an encouraging look. The amnesiac hesitated to follow, but the sound of the lance's tip being removed from the ground was more than enough incentive.

As they marched along the roughly paved road, the newcomer acutely aware of Frederick’s lance and sharp glare, he mulled over everything he could figure out. Looking at himself, he noted he was donning a long, black cloak that fell to his heels, and was at least a size too big for him. Its sleeves, which were comically longer than his arms, each had an amethyst-coloured line down it, which also decorated the back and hood of the cloak, with three eye-like markings along it, and the cuffs were accented with gold. A soothing, female scent clung to the fabric, and he found himself relaxing in that presence. Whatever the case, it could not have been a cheap garment. Otherwise, he was only wearing a beige, sleeveless top, matching cotton trousers beneath crossed belts holding up leather padding, which matched the cloak, and leather boots.

He was obviously in a coastal area, given the sounds and smells--

He cut off that train of thought. How could he perceive such things? He had not stopped to think on it earlier, but it wasn’t something a human should have been able to do, was it? The ability to smell or hear anything from miles away is beyond average capability. So how come he could do it, and with such ease?

He abruptly halted.

"What will you do with me?" he asked the question that had been on his mind since he woke up. "Am I to be your prisoner?"

Chrom chuckled again. "Don't worry! You'll be free to go once we establish you're no enemy of Ylisse."

"Is that where we are? Ylisse?" asked the amnesiac.

"You've never heard of the halidom?" Frederick scoffed. "Ha! Someone pay this actor. He plays quite the fool! The furrowed brow is especially convincing..."

He felt an odd tingling sensation in his throat, and his brows lowered at the comment. Then again, he couldn't truly blame the man for being distrustful at his incredible story. An amnesiac who they just happened to find laying in the middle of a field? That sounded unbelievable, even to the victim.

"Frederick, please." Chrom glared at the man, before calmly answering the other person. "This land is known as the Halidom of Ylisse. Our ruler, Emmeryn, is called the Exalt.” He paused. “I suppose proper introductions are in order. As you know, my name is Chrom." He lightheartedly wrapped his arm around the girl’s shoulders and squeezed her against his side. "The delicate one here is my little sister, Lissa."

"I am NOT delicate!" interrupted the girl in question, finishing with a huff and flicking her head away from him. With her arms still crossed, she soon redirected a softened gaze to the stranger. "Ignore my brother, please. He can be a bit thick, sometimes!" It was Chrom's turn to look offended, but Lissa swiftly continued before he could interrupt her. "But you're lucky the Shepherds found you. Brigands would've been a rude awakening!"

The amnesiac tilted his head in curiosity. "'Shepherds'?" he repeated. "You tend sheep? In full armour?"

Chrom chuckled. "It's a dangerous job. Just ask Frederick the Wary, here." He gestured to the knight in question, who bowed to him.

"A title I shall wear with pride. Gods forbid one of us keeps an appropriate level of caution." He still scowled at the amnesiac. "I have every wish to trust you, stranger, but my station mandates otherwise."

"I understand, sir,” he answered formally. "I would do no less myself. My name is Robin--" In his surprise, he cut himself off mid-sentence. Robin. That certainly sounded familiar. Did that mean that was his name? It had just slipped out while he had been speaking, unbidden. He didn't exactly have much else to go on, let alone deny it, so he supposed it had to be his name. "I just remembered that. How odd… I suppose that's one mystery solved!" He turned to face Chrom properly, grinning ecstatically from ear to ear. "My name is Robin! It's nice to meet you." He bowed slightly--it just felt right to do so--but he was unable to stop himself from trembling excitedly.

Chrom and Lissa laughed lightly at the display. "Robin, huh?" repeated the man. "I haven’t heard of anyone being named after a bird before, but it certainly isn’t a bad name."

"See!" budded in the girl. "Your amnesia is probably from your unconsciousness, so it won't be long before you remember more!"

Robin smiled thankfully, before it faded and he blanched instead. That smell would unsettle anyone, but, more importantly, people were screaming in terror not too far away.

"Chrom, look!" he yelped, pointing ahead. Everyone whirled around in the given direction, and their breath caught in their throats.

Dark smoke was billowing up into the sky from the southwest.

Chrom gritted his teeth in anger. "Damn it! Southtown is ablaze! Those blasted brigands, no doubt," he growled, before swinging his arm in a rallying motion and taking off into a sprint. "Frederick, Lissa, quickly!"

"What about him, milord?" questioned the knight, already mounted on his steed, but still remaining beside Robin.

The blue-haired man halted, hastily glanced between the two, and bit his lip. "Unless he’s on fire, too, it can wait!" he snapped.

The ever-calm Frederick nodded. "Aptly put, milord."

"Let’s go, already!" Lissa prompted agitatedly. Her brother nodded stiffly in agreement, and they, with the knight pulling the girl onto his horse behind him, wasted no time in heading towards the town.

"But, what about…" Robin sighed quietly as he trailed off, looking at his surroundings as he was left alone.

He could run away and never need to see those three again. It was the perfect chance to escape, if he so wanted to. They would have completely forgotten about a random boy like himself, a stranger they just found lying unconscious on the wayside, by morning. However, he could not stomach the idea of leaving Chrom, Frederick, and Lissa to fight whatever brigands attacked the town without a proper plan. He gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted to do was enter a fight, but a niggling feeling the depths of his conscience told him that he had to help. He would not leave innocents to die.

Robin shook his head, muttering, "Gods, help us…"

And he followed them.

. . .

When the three Shepherds arrived in Southtown, almost every building was already in flames. Black smoke was rising, the wooden foundations being consumed. The market in the town square, where traders had once gathered, was desolate and destroyed, goods sprawled across the streets, fruits squashed, barbecue fires out of control.

They heard a high-pitched squeal, and turned to see who looked like one of the stronger ruffians leering at a short, blonde young woman, slowly and threateningly closing in on her while imposingly flexing his muscles. She was being driven against the wall of a residential home, one of the few which wasn't already being bathed in flames. She squeaked when she felt her back hit the solid stone, frantic as she searched for a way out of her entrapment.

"Well, yeh're a pretty lil’ lass, ain’tcha?" asked the man, licking his lips wolfishly. She wimpered when his body got uncomfortably close to hers, his breaths tickling her cheek. "Would be a shame if--"

The brigand suddenly jolted and collapsed, killed by the blade of Frederick’s lance.

"Indeed. It would be a shame if she had to deal with you any longer," almost spat the knight, redirecting his mount to face her again. "Are you quite alright, miss?"

She could only nod shakily, still trembling.

"Are you hurt?" Lissa cried, unclipping her Heal staff and holding it ready. It was the weakest of its kind, a simple golden rod with a turquoise orb attached to the end, but it was the best the young cleric could do.

"I-I’m fine, Lady Lissa," she stammered, curtsying awkwardly. “Just a bit shaken, that’s all. I assure you!”

The girl nodded, satisfied. "Good!"

"Get to safety for now," Chrom said, walking up to the group. He looked over the ruined market in disgust. "We’ll take care of this mess."

As the young woman agreed and fled, the lord unsheathed his sword, Falchion. Its guard bore a similar design to the brand on his shoulder, with a teardrop shaped hollow in the middle, and gold running from the hilt, around the edge, then down the centre of the narrow blade. It was a wondrous thing to behold, despite its, admittedly, plain design for what it truly was. But perhaps the simplicity only magnified its iridescent glow.

They heard more brigands cry in pain, and their attention flicked to the east side of the market area.

"Oi! That guy took 'im out!" roared a myrmidon and ran off, a mage following him in the direction of the cry. Chrom and Frederick took their chance and stabbed them from behind, their now-corpses joining a third. The two men looked up at the culprit, who had just removed his bronze sword, a first tier, but nonetheless durable, weapon, from the body he had robbed of life.

"Robin?" Chrom asked in surprise, but got no response. The boy seemed to be in a trance of some sort, his gaze fixed upon the dead man. His clouded eyes showed not a single hint of clear-mindedness, head curiously tilted to the left, staring at the puddle of blood leaking out onto the pavement. Thick saliva flowed from his slightly parted lips and down his chin, dripping onto the ground.

"Robin?" There was still no response as the boy knelt down beside the body, tilting his head the other way. His heavy breaths became audible as he leaned in more closely to the corpse’s head.

"…Milord?" The ever-wary Frederick prompted, tense.

"ROBIN!" Chrom shouted as a small breeze whipped through his hair, snapping the other man out of it as he wrinkled his nose, jumping up straight and looking between them, eyes wide in panic.

"Ch-Chrom, don't do that again! I didn't even hear you coming!" he yelled, jittery.

"Milord had called your name three times already!" Frederick intervened, taking up a warning tone. "You were the one who wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings. The next time that happens, you may not make it out alive."

"Frederick, wait," Chrom raised a hand, silencing his guard’s warning. "Robin, what was that? You're still drooling."

The boy in question blinked in surprise, and ran his fingers under his mouth, pulling his hand away and seeing, to his obvious shock, the clear liquid coating his digits. He hurriedly wiped his mouth with his sleeve, partially just smearing the saliva across his face, and lowered his head again.

"I don't know... I just..." he whispered, looking anywhere, including the dead body, but them.

"Robin, are you alright?" Chrom asked again, prompting the amnesiac to look up, but still not in the blue-haired man’s eye. Robin’s own widened when he stared past the lord's head, already fair skin paling at the sight he was met with.

"Behind you!" he suddenly cried, digging into his cloak.

The sapphire-haired man turned to see a barbarian running towards him, bronze axe raised and ready to cleave him in half. Chrom grasped Falchion's hilt, preparing to draw it, when a golden ball of lightning rushed past him and hit the brigand square in the chest. The man's limbs spasmed from electrocution for a few seconds, before his knees buckled and he collapsed face-first onto the ground, and remained limp.

Chrom turned to the caster to see the glowing ancient runes that had been spiralling around Robin fade, the boy's left hand outstretched, the right holding a book with a yellow binding, a golden zig-zag shape below the ancient inscriptions titling the spell book. A thunder tome, to be precise, the most powerful type of anima magic. Robin lowered his hand and stuck the tome under his cloak into a specially designed pouch. Chrom also noticed the bronze sword was in its scabbard at his hip, the boy remaining silent.

"Milord, I apologise for not reacting in time."

"It's fine, Frederick," Chrom said to the ashamed knight. "Not a scratch on me!" Turning to the other. "But, Robin, are you okay?"

The boy hesitated, and looked away. "I'm fine."

Even Chrom, who was infamously unaware of other's on an emotional level and a terrible liar himself, knew Robin wasn't telling the entire truth, but decided to change the subject.

"Why did you follow us?"

Another hesitation, but at least the boy looked at him. "I... I'm not sure myself." His eerie eyes became more steely, and he gestured to his weapons and the brigands he had slain. "But, as you can see, I'm armed. And I know my way around a fight, if you'll have me."

Chrom nodded in agreement. "Right, strength in numbers--just stay close!" He didn't want to witness another episode like Robin had just shown, if possible. He could not fathom what that behaviour meant. It certainly had not been the traumatic feeling of killing someone for the first time. With Robin's skill, it was obvious he knew how to fight, even if he couldn't remember learning it. Not to mention that his reaction had not matched the symptoms that followed such a shock. No, it had been something else entirely.

The boy had seemed fascinated with the corpse more than anything else, hypnotised even. The lord knew Frederick would point it out sooner or later, especially with Robin's apparent ethnicity. Such fair body tones were not Ylissean, nor was the design of his robes. He might have continued his reverie for a while longer if not for the mage interrupting his train of thought. Was Robin even what classified as a mage? The only ones the lord knew of could certainly not wield a sword.

"There's still plenty of them left," Robin spoke pensively, crouching behind the stall nearest to the opponents. Lissa squatted down behind him, whereas Chrom and Frederick, after dismounting his horse, hid behind the market stand beside theirs. The sword-wielding mage bit his lip, scrutinising each brigand. His eyes widened suddenly, and he placed a palm on his head with a light moan. In response, Chrom lightly shook the boy's shoulder.

"Still with us, Robin?"

The younger male hummed in thought, before shifting and looking over the enemy again, frowning. "It's strange. Here on the battlefield, I can... Well, I can 'see' things."

"See things?" echoed the lord. "Like what?"

"The enemy's strength, their weaponry, the flow of battle... I must have studied this somewhere."

Chrom cocked a brow. "So, you're saying you can size up the enemy at a glance?" he guessed.

Robin nodded, suddenly confident. "Yes, it would seem so. And perhaps even more, if I apply myself..."

"Would you be prepared to demonstrate?" Frederick asked, his tone more like that of an order. The mage spared him a glance, before returning to the enemy, eyes narrowed.

"Two swordsmen, a mage, three axemen and the boss. They all have bronze weapons, the mage a fire tome, but the leader has a hand axe--iron. They have chosen the church as a base, since it's the sturdiest building, and are holding the villagers captive in there."

Chrom scanned the area himself. They were hiding behind the final row of market stalls before the bridge, under which flowed a deep, tidal river directly connected to the sea. The church on the other side showed no signs of damage, but the coloured windows didn't allow for him to see inside, either. He could recognise the placements of the enemy--the axemen barely ten paces ahead, the swordsmen on the bridge, and the leader behind them--, but he couldn't identify their arsenal from that distance. Could Robin tell the weapons apart by their sheathes? He had only ever known Frederick to be capable of that.

"How can you tell?" Frederick inquired.

"Well, for one, they would have no other use for it, so they would burn it down, and why else would the leader stand right in front of the doors? Seems pretty pointless, if you ask me. N-not that I'm praising their wit!" Robin yelped when the knight shot him a suspicious glare.

Lissa leaned around him. "I know what you said, but I don't see a mage anywhere..."

He smirked. "That's the idea. Look!" He pointed to a house on the other side of the river. From the attic window, they could see the man, poised and ready to strike with his Fire tome from above.

"So that's how the entire town was set ablaze, yet none of them carried torches," Chrom mused aloud, earning a nod.

"So, here's what I suggest," Robin started. "Chrom faces one of the axemen. If it's unavoidable, then limit yourself to two out of the three. Frederick will handle the swordsmen. You both will have a weapon advantage over your opponents." Swords allowed the wielder more control over the blade's course than axes, making them more versatile. Axes bested lances by cleaving the haft in two, and lances had a longer range than swords. Those basic rules formed the 'weapon triangle', a key point to bear in mind for any strategy. "I'll take care of that mage before joining Chrom. Lissa stays behind Frederick and heals us later."

"A sound plan," admitted the lord. Lissa and Frederick nodded in agreement, the latter a little more cautiously. He pulled himself up onto his armoured horse, before offering the cleric a hand.

"Don't charge until the mage is dead. Your armour will do nothing to impede the magical damage," Robin warned, before skulking to the eastern side of the market and whispering the ancient runes to charge the Thunder spell. He raised his hand, narrowing his eyes and focusing on his target. He only had one chance with the element of surprise. The glyphs started spiralling around him, and the pages of his tome fluttered by themselves with the mana flowing through them.

"Thunder," he whispered, and the golden ball of lightning flew up to the building, hit the mage in the chest, and the victim fell backwards, out of sight.

"Your end has come!" Chrom roared as he charged from behind the stall, blindsiding the first axeman. The man whirled around to meet the lord, raising his axe in an attempt to stop Falchion in its tracks. The holy metal struck the bronze, and sparks flew as their blades ground against each other. The brigand had a clear advantage in strength, pushing Chrom back.

The lord spun out of the way, the axe slicing across his exposed upper arm, the brigand stumbled forward, before he was stabbed through the back, and dropped dead.

"Duck!"

It took Chrom a moment to realise what was being demanded, before he crouched down. He heard the sound of the bronze axe gliding over his head, immediately followed by the electric sound of the Thunder spell striking the ruffian. The force of the anima magic threw the man back, and the lord had felt the energy as it had zipped over his head. Chrom shuddered at the thought of what could have happened had he not lowered himself in time.

He raised himself and lunged at the brigand, Falchion stabbing the burly man's chest. He spluttered, his knees buckled, before he joined his companion on the pavement.

"DAMN YOU!!" Chrom heard the third axeman cry behind him, and he whirled around to see him running towards Robin, who was standing just in front of what had formerly been his cover, axe raised high and screaming for vengeance. The brute knew the boy was a mage, a scholar of magic, and they generally had low physical capabilities compared to other classes.

The axe came down, a scraping sound resounded as Robin drew his sword, then parried the strike to the side by following the axe's movement with his sword, turning the brute's own momentum against him, then rolled in the opposite direction. The brigand's axe smashed the stone tiles lining the marketplace and buried itself in the ground below. Robin took the chance, and ran up to the immobilised man as he attempted to dislodge his weapon.

"You sorely underestimated me!" he cried as he ran the brigand's heart through, the bloodied tip of his sword protruding from the other side of the body. Robin pulled out the blade, and stumbled back as the brigand collapsed.

A wave of concern washed over Chrom, and he immediately rushed to the boy's side. He firmly grasped Robin's shoulders, ignoring the stabbing sensation it brought to his right arm, as the mage continued staring at the three corpses. His knees were practically banging against each other, beads of sweat running down his pale forehead, past wide eyes and a gaping mouth as shuddering breaths escaped it.

"Hey!" Chrom called, leaning into the boy's line of vision. "Don't think about that, alright?"

"That look..." Robin whispered, wet eyes meeting the lord's. "He was...scared... He didn't want to die..."

The older man sighed and nodded solemnly. "Of course he didn't, but look around." He gestured the area surrounding them, the burning houses, the destroyed goods, the blood-tainted river. "They did this--they had justice coming."

Robin still looked at him, latent terror he was trying to calm evident in his expression, and slumped against the market stand behind him. "Why do any of...this?" he asked quietly, glancing around the town nearing ashes. "Why...?"

Chrom clapped him on the shoulder. "I don't know why anyone would want to do this. But what I do know, is that the Shepherds are fighting to put an end to all this." A hesitant nod answered him, and the lord felt a pang of empathy; this was more like the reaction he had expected. Perhaps Robin was not as prepared to kill as he had originally thought, but that only made the event earlier more bizarre. The boy hadn't seemed to mind that corpse, so why mind the one beside them? An idea pulled at the edges of Chrom's mind, but he repressed it, both horrified and nauseated at the very thought.

"Milord!" They heard Frederick call. The great knight arrived with his silver lance bloodied and Lissa's face buried in his armoured back. From his peripheral vision, Chrom watched Robin straighten up, and awkwardly sheathe his sword. "I have dispatched my assigned targets, as well as the leader. He appeared to be the man we were after."

Chrom frowned. Garrick had been a well known criminal leader, who had recently gained infamy in all of southern Ylisse with his chain attacks on the towns. Southtown was only one example. Not only that, but the brigands' accents had alerted Chrom to a potentially greater threat.

"Well, that's the end of that," Robin sighed in relief, surveying the town once again.

Lissa peeked out from behind Frederick, a little pale. Her first battle had been in the village they had saved the day before, and she hadn't exactly taken part in any actual combat. Riding behind Frederick was the closest she had been her entire life, so she was understandably a little shaken. She hopped off the armoured mare, and blew a stray lock of hair out of her face.

"Honestly, Chrom. Wear a sleeve!" she chided as she examined her brother's injury. She sighed exasperatedly, and began bandaging the gash instead of healing it immediately. "I'll need to borrow some disinfectants for that before I can seal the wound. Just don't strain it. Luckily for the them, we were close by." She tied a bow in the bandage, with a cheeky wink to her brother, and turned to face the boy again with her usual bright expression. "But holy wow, Robin, you were incredible! Swords, sorcery, AND tactics! Is there anything you can't do?"

"You're certainly no helpless victim," Chrom agreed, pointedly ignoring Lissa's 'accessory'. "That much is for sure."

"Indeed. Perhaps you might even be capable for an explanation of how you came here?" Frederick questioned from atop his steed, tightening his grip on his lance.

Robin lowered his head with an uncharacteristic frown. He seemed to brood and chew over his words carefully, before he nervously met Frederick's gaze. "I understand your scepticism, Sir Frederick," he started slowly. "And I cannot explain why only some knowledge has returned to me. But please, believe me, I have shared all that I know."

"You fought to save Ylissean lives. My heart says that's enough," Chrom spoke firmly.

"And your mind, milord? Will you not heed its counsel, as well?"

"Frederick," The lord fixed the knight with a firm look. "The Shepherds could use someone with Robin's talents. We've brigands and unruly neighbours, all looking to bloody our soil. Would you really have us lose such an able tactician?" He shot the boy in question a grin. "Besides, I believe his story, odd as it might be."

"Th-thank you, Chrom," Robin whispered breathlessly, eyes wide in surprise at the amount of sheer blind faith put into him. Despite whatever protests that were bound to arise, the lord was confident that his trust was well placed. He certainly could not remember an event where that had not been the case, nor could anyone else.

"So how about it? Will you join us, Robin?" He placed his hands on his hips, an assured grin on his face. He watched in slight amusement as Robin stared blankly at him, obviously shocked at the sudden offer. As the surprise faded, it was replaced by deep pensiveness as his gaze fixed itself upon his feet, his fists clenching and unclenching rhythmically. He could simply accept or decline the offer. Either choice would greatly affect his life from that moment on, so Chrom could understand the hesitance. However, as he had said, he had no intention of losing someone with such potential without a fight, so refusal would have been met with negotiation.

But Chrom soon realised he hadn't needed to worry, as the boy gave each one of them a glance, and smiled brightly and thankfully.

"I would be honoured." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello again Wattpad, hello fanfiction.net, and hello AO3!
> 
> This is the revised version of a fanfic I began writing last year. There will be some minor and major differences to the original work, from dialogues to accuracy of the story elements, especially when it comes to Tokyo Ghoul, which I am, admittedly, less familiar with than Fire Emblem: Awakening. I'm sticking more closely to the manga than the anime, so whoever has only seen the latter will meet some unfamiliar concepts. But don't worry--all will be thoroughly explained!
> 
> This work will follow the FE:A storyline, but I'm confident that I'll explain the characters and concepts well enough, and an equal amount of detailed TG elements, so that those who haven't played the game will enjoy it just as much as those who have, and vice versa.
> 
> That said, the rating of this fanfic *WILL* move up to M pretty soon(maybe even as early as Chapter 3), and there will be character spoilers for Tokyo Ghoul:re, so reader discretion is advised for those with weak stomachs, and who don't want to be spoiled in that area!!
> 
> Tags I've added so far on AO3, for reference:
> 
> \- Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death
> 
> \- Horror, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy
> 
> \- Psychological Trauma, Past Abuse
> 
> \- Borderline Personality Disorder
> 
> \- Rating May Change
> 
> Some of you may have noticed that the title says "Ylisstol Ghoul 'I'". This will be a three-part series, one per arc of the story. And, who knows, maybe a fourth?
> 
> Updates to this work will become more frequent as my original writing style and attention to plot detail gradually improves. I hope you'll stick with me throughout this little (but certainly VERY long) adventure!
> 
> Also, dear American and Australian readers, BRITISH SPELLINGS AND EXPRESSIONS! Just to make sure that's clear!! I can also speak German and French. Anyone who prefers those over English can always speak to me in those two languages, if they want to.
> 
> Fire Emblem: Awakening is a strategy RPG game for the Nintendo 3DS console by Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. Tokyo Ghoul and Tokyo Ghoul:re are manga written and drawn by ISHIDA Sui, the first of which is already released in two anime series. I own neither!
> 
> I greatly appreciate reviews/comments on my work. They always motivate me to continue writing!


	3. Cataclysm

Chrom and Robin cleaned their swords as they sat on the low bridge wall. With the skirmish over, Lissa was off healing any injured and Frederick--having cleaned his lance impossibly quickly--was helping gather materials that could still be used from the ruined houses with the town residents. When Robin had unsheathed his sword, he had immediately caught the scent of the blood on the metal.

Horrifyingly, it made his mouth water. He was wiping the crimson liquid off of his sword as quickly as he could with the cloth Chrom had lent him. He focused on swallowing a minimum of every ten seconds and kept his head slightly tilted away, just to be safe. Every time he caught that aroma, the hollow feeling in his gut magnified, he salivated heavily, and his concentration seemed to slip away, but he remained conscious. The last time that had happened, he had awoken to Chrom yelling his name, and himself leaning alarmingly close to the head wound of the man he had just killed, with saliva running from his mouth like a sticky waterfall. And he had a clear recollection of what he had done.

He had snuck up on that man from behind, and stabbed him through the heart. Then, as the scent of that man's blood had wafted into his nose, a low, wolffish growl had torn from his throat, and he had focused solely on the body below him. He had leaned in, tracing that deliciously enticing scent to where it was strongest--the wound, and the jugular vein. He had felt so starved, so entranced, so hypnotised that he hadn't even noticed the Shepherds kill the other two men and call his name. He had wanted to sink his teeth into that soft flesh, relish the feeling of slick blood oozing into his mouth and meat run down his throat as he swallowed.

However, a breeze had brushed past Chrom and into Robin's face, making him wrinkle his nose at that rancid odour, which made him feel sick to his stomach. Illness repressed appetite, and never could that have been more true than in that instance.

Robin must have been making a face, because Chrom's concerned voice broke through his musings.

"Are you alright, Robin?"

The amnesiac shook those thoughts from his mind, and answered him in as level a tone as he could muster.

"I'm fine," he attempted to sound lighthearted, but the nervousness he felt must have leaked into his voice. Obviously, Chrom didn't buy it.

"Would you like to talk about it?" he offered as the boy sheathed his sword and handed back the bloodied cloth, studiously holding his breath.

Robin hesitated. How would this man react if he told him the truth? Probably not well, he figured. "I just... I wake up not remembering anything, then end up killing people as if it's something...natural." Just like when he had attempted to gain Frederick's trust, he chose his words with caution. "What was--no, AM I? A brigand myself? A trained assassin? Or...?" he trailed off, not daring to finish that last question. He didn't dare think what manner of being would be so intoxicated by the smell of human blood.

Chrom hummed deeply, and leaned back a little. For a second, Robin lurched at the thought of the man falling off the low bridge and into the river below, but he calmed himself when he realised the lord was still perfectly balanced.

"Haven't you remembered anything else, so far?" Chrom asked.

Robin shook his head. "No, I'd have told you if I had."

"I'm sorry I can't really do anything to help you," sighed the man remorsefully.

The other shook his head again, but more vigorously, and leaned into the his direct line of sight. "It's fine. I'll just make new memories!"

Robin still had nothing but strategies, fighting and his name to call his own, all of which had come back alarmingly intuitively. He may not have even known how to read or write. Ancient runes did not count, since they were part of the spell-casting.

Chrom just stared at him. "I doubt I could be that optimistic in your place."

"Milord," Frederick interrupted their conversation with Lissa in tow, a disturbed look on his face. "Did you notice? The brigands spoke with a Plegian accent."

Chrom nodded grimly, but Robin pulled a blank on the matter. "'Plegian'?" he parroted. "What's that?"

The lord's expression suddenly turned bitter. "Plegia is Ylisse's westerly neighbour. They send small bands into our territory, hoping to instigate a war."

"And it's the poor townsfolk who suffer! Totally innocent, and totally helpless..." Lissa added sadly.

Robin nodded at the grim knowledge he had just received.

"They do have us, milady--Shepherds to protect the sheep," Frederick said to her. "Do not be swept up in your anger. It will cloud your judgement."

She sighed exasperatedly. "I know, I know." Her pout was replaced with a smile. "Don't worry! I'll get used to all this."

"Milord, milady!" called out an aged man, the mayor, judging by the more expensive clothing, to them. "Please, you must stay the night! We are simple folk of simple means, but we would gladly toast your valour with a feast!" he invited, the rest of the village supporting him with cheers and encouragements.

When did Robin last eat? He wouldn't know, but he guessed a while, if the extreme hunger earlier had been anything to go by. He swallowed his building saliva.

"A most generous offer, sir, and no doubt your hospitality would be grand," Frederick beat Robin to reply. "But I'm afraid we must hurry back to Ylisstol."

The boy pouted at the idea of waiting for food, leading Chrom to chuckle from beside him as they dropped off the wall.

"Dark meat only for me, medium well, and no salt in the soup! I simply--" Lissa started listing off, before her jaw dropped. "Wait, what?! We're not staying?! But, Frederick, it's nearly dark!"

The knight replied calmly, hands behind his back, "When night falls, we'll camp. Eat off the land, make our bed of twigs and the like..." The corners of his mouth twitched briefly. "I believe you mentioned you would be 'getting used to this'?"

"Frederick? Sometimes I hate you," she said, deadpan.

Looking between the two, Robin felt a cheeky grin form. "You've quite the stern lieutenant there."

"Yeah, well, 'stern' is one name for it. I can think of a few others," Lissa replied, crossing her arms.

Chrom chuckled, "Frederick only smiles when he's about to bring down the axe."

"Duly noted," Robin stated with a nod.

Frederick cleared his throat a little more loudly than necessary, his expression unreadable. "You do realise I AM still present?"

"Oh, we realise," Chrom said, his grin matching Robin's, who giggled quietly.

"Milord remains as amusing as ever," Frederick deadpanned. "Now then, shall we be going?"

"Alright, alright," Chrom relented, hands raised submissively. He faced their new recruit. "Ready to go, Robin? The capital isn't far."

* * *

"I told you--it's getting dark already!" Lissa complained as they reached a small clearing in the nighttime forest, throwing her arms up in annoyance. She flapped her hands around her head when she started to hear buzzing. "Ech! And now the bugs are out! Noisy, disgusting bugs that buzz around and crawl all over and bite you when-- Agh!" She clasped her hands over her mouth, her eyes squeezed shut in disgust. "Won gouph in ma mouph!"

"Aw, come on now, Lissa. Hardship builds character!" quoted her brother, gaining himself a glare. "Want to help me gather firewood?"

She ignored him in favour of spitting at the ground in an attempt to rid herself of the insect. "Yeeeeeuck! ...I think I swallowed it..." she mumbled. "I'll pass on finding firewood, thanks. I think I've built QUITE enough character for one day!"

Robin blushed profusely when a deep gurgling resounded from his abdomen. He clutched the area above his stomach, and laughed nervously without meeting the others' eyes. "We should probably think about food. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"We noticed," Chrom teased, making Robin whine in humiliation and try to further hide himself in his oversized coat.

"Yes, I should think a little hunting and gathering is in order, and this place doesn't seem too bad," Frederick mused aloud, looking around the clearing.

"I'll gather the firewood, Frederick can--"

"I'll keep Robin company here!" Lissa interrupted her brother. Knowing looks were sent her way.

"Alright, you two can clear the site and unpack." Lissa's cheerful mood immediately fell at Chrom's suggestion. "Frederick can hunt. Everyone okay with that?"

The other three nodded, Lissa slightly more downtrodden, and split up. Chrom left eastwards, Frederick southwards, and the remaining two unclipped the sacks from the back of the great knight's horse. Setting them down in the centre of the clearing, they began to unpack. The items Robin noticed included vulneraries, a dagger, a distinct lack of tents, and a book on strategies, which he immediately pounced upon, much to Lissa's amusement.

"How are you holding up, Robin?" he heard her ask once they had finished their assigned task, the girl leaning back and crossing her legs. "I understand that this must all be really fast for you."

He reluctantly removed his gaze from the line he was reading to reply politely. "Very fast," he confirmed. "First nothing, then a battle, then camping under the night sky."

She smiled sadly. "Well, I'm sure it'll come back in time." She suddenly jolted upright. "Hey! How about we look at what you have on you right now? Maybe that'll trigger some memories!"

Robin's face lit up at the prospect. "Right!"

He hastily marked the page he had been reading, shrugged off his dark cloak, and they began searching the pockets. He almost felt naked without the heavy material covering his shoulders, and only then noted just how skinny he was. All they found was the Thunder tome and a black change of clothing--nothing of use to them. Robin sighed.

"Don't worry. Your memories won't be gone forever, I'm sure."

A pregnant silence followed Lissa's empty attempt at encouragement. She fidgeted uncomfortably as she watched the amnesiac place their finds back where they belonged. Then, suddenly, she gasped. "Gosh, I haven't treated Chrom's arm yet!"

"Hey, Robin? Mind helping me build a fire?" called a familiar voice as the man arrived, a pile of branches, sticks, and twigs in his arms. The boy nodded and gathered up the rocks he and Lissa had collected. The man carefully formed a small teepee out of the twigs. Lissa handed Robin his tome, and the mage used a spark to light the fire.

"Just don't tell our resident pyromaniac we used the easy way," she warned as they arranged the rocks in a circle around the campfire.

"Who?" Robin questioned.

"Frederick," Chrom said with a smirk, carefully placing some branches on top of the blazing fire. "He's especially religious when it comes to lighting campfires. If he had seen us, he would have put out the fire and relit it the 'traditional' way."

"Not to mention the scolding he'd give us!"

The amnesiac shuddered. "He's scary..."

"Who's scary?" A chill ran down Robin's spine when he heard the deep voice of the very man he was referring to, and Lissa snorted in giggles from behind him. He looked up to see the great knight with his lance, once again, coated in blood, his hair messed up, armour dirty, and hauling a mass of black fur twice his size behind him.

"I'm afraid I could not hunt much, milord. The wildlife has been chased off," Frederick apologised, then gestured to the furry mass behind him, and Robin blanched. "However, I did manage to catch the culprit."

"Bear!" Chrom exclaimed, and moved to get up. He was stopped by Lissa grabbing his injured arm and yanking it towards herself.

"Nuh uh! I'm healing you first," she stated firmly as she unravelled the bandages from around his upper arm.

"Something tells me you didn't actually forget to do it up until now," Chrom said dryly.

"Serves you and your stupid sense in fashion right," she mumbled absentmindedly. With the wound exposed, most of the blood having already dried into a scab, she undid the pouch from her waist and took out a bottle of disinfectant alcohol and a cloth. She dabbed the wound clean after getting rid of the dried blood, and held the orb of her staff over the wound. She closed her eyes, and it began to glow an ethereal azure.

" _Lumen vitae_ ," she chanted. "Heal!" Chrom winced as the edges of the wound began stitching themselves together, until it disappeared completely.

By then, Frederick had finished skewering the cuts onto four branches stripped of leaves and twigs to cook. The lord grabbed a couple for Robin and himself, Lissa another and Frederick, oddly, took the smallest. The smell that wafted from the meat as they cooked it above the fire made Robin frown in anxiety. It smelled so foul. He watched as Chrom eagerly bit into the meat, making sounds of pleasure. Didn't that smell discourage him? Perhaps the taste was different?

The man paused his meal briefly, unaware of the other's stare. "It's been too long since I last had bear meat. Delicious!" As he swallowed another bite, he took note of his pouting sister. "What's wrong, Lissa? Dig in!"

"Pass!" she groaned, and prodded her abandoned portion in obvious disgust. "Gods, couldn't you spear us an animal normal people eat, for once? I mean, come on! Who eats bear?! You're meddling with the food chain! Right, Robin?"

"I... I'm sure it's fine," Robin answered, studying his own portion. "I just haven't tried it yet..."

"Well, try it!" Chrom encouraged, and took another bite.

Robin turned the meat slightly in his grasp. He could see the juices dripping from the darkened flesh, but the odour remained sickening. He gulped, leaned in, and timidly bit into it.

He paled, his eyes widened, and he clasped his hands over his mouth as he lurched. He sprung up and stumbled to the edge of the clearing, where he voided his mouth and stomach.

"Robin? What's wr--" Chrom gasped behind him, and Robin felt the man move to support his body as he remained on his hands and knees, hacking dryly as his body attempted to further empty his already hollow stomach.

"Is he alright?!" Lissa squealed. Before the boy could stop him, the lord yelled back what was happening, and she came running. By then, his fit was over, and he sank back onto his legs. Chrom repeated his unfinished question.

"I don't know..." Robin answered after gulping down the remaining fluids, and shivered. "The meat tasted foul, rotten even. The juices were like scalding acid. And the fat seemed too rubbery to eat." He wiped his mouth on the handkerchief Chrom offered. Robin noticed the frown on the man's face, somewhere between concern and dread.

"Maybe you're allergic?" Lissa suggested, before she gave her brother a sharp look. "Or the meat is just THAT disgusting. Or undercooked."

"Or personal preference," Chrom retorted.

"I doubt anyone would go as far as VOMITING over a matter of 'personal preference'!" she exclaimed.

"Then allergy it is!"

They helped Robin to his feet and guided him back to the clearing. Frederick sat there rigidly. He had heard everything, without a doubt, and kept a wary eye on Robin, but said nothing on the matter.

The amnesiac looked at his portion again. Even he could tell it was not undercooked, and certainly less rare than Chrom's. The man was eating his slightly cold portion with just as much gusto as earlier, Lissa still refusing to touch hers, and Frederick still sitting cross-legged, biting his tongue.

Eventually, Chrom broke the awkward silence. "Just eat it, Lissa. Meat is meat."

She petulantly glared at him. "Since when does meat smell like old boots?!" A pause. "Wait, I take that back--boots smell better!"

"Every experience makes us stronger, milady," Frederick said. "Even those we don't enjoy."

"Really? Then why don't I see YOU eating, Frederick?" Lissa accused, placing her hands on her hips and pointedly looking at the man's own untouched portion.

The great knight blanched. "Me? Oh, well... I'm not hungry. I... I had a large lunch!" He nodded, as if satisfied with his own excuse. "Yes, quite."

"Yeah right, Frederick!"

Their bouts of laughter faded, and the two men later started skinning the rest of the bear to dry and make into jerky. Robin watched them work, his stomach making more noises of complaint.

He had food right in front of him. He had tried to eat it, but why had his body rejected it in such a manner? Why did the food disgust him? He had to eat sooner or later, or he would end up starving himself. The idea of marching to a city an unknown distance away on an empty stomach hurt just thinking about it. What could he eat?

Whenever he sensed blood, he had felt it. That gnawing, devouring, excruciating hunger. As horrid a thought it was, he couldn't stop the sentence from forming.

He could only eat human flesh.

He felt his hands clutch his coat's black material. It wasn't true--it couldn't be! He couldn't be limited to human flesh for sustenance. It was downright unnatural! He wouldn't allow himself to fall as low as cannibalism.

He breathed in deeply through his nose, taking in the scents of the area; earthy trees and bushes, fresh flowers, rancid deer, fetid rabbit, delicious Frederick, and nauseating Chrom and Lissa. He had been able to discern their gender before he had even awoken, and had heard waves crashing from several miles away. At that moment, he could hear their regular, calm heartbeats.

He could detect the scent of blood and viscera still clinging to the black set of clothing stowed one his cloak's many pockets. It was extremely faint, undetectable to common noses, having been washed out countless times, yet the smell must have remained present through regular refreshment.

He could only eat human flesh, and he had superhuman senses of smell and hearing. With those thoughts in mind, he actually hoped he wasn't human, then changed his mind, then again. If he was human, he would also be a cannibal, but if he wasn't, then what kind of creature was he if he had to eat humans?

He felt a migraine begin to throb at his temples, and he hadn't noticed just how deep in his paradoxical thoughts he had been until Lissa waved her hand in front of his face, calling his name. She giggled when he comically reeled away in surprise, but it quickly subsided.

"We should get some rest. Frederick's gonna wake us up early tomorrow, and you'll need your strength," she explained, before returning to her spot.

Robin was about to lean back, when he noticed the absence of the two other males. "Where did they go?"

She sent him a half worried, half annoyed look. "Frederick said he wanted to talk 'privately' and they left about a minute ago. You really were out of it, huh?"

"Guess so..."

He laid down on his back and pulled his hood over his eyes. As curious as he was, private talk was private talk, and the thought of Frederick's disapproving gaze sent chills down his spine. He shuddered as he turned over, eyelids suddenly heavy under the comforting darkness of his cloak's hood, and keeping them open quickly became an impossible task.

* * *

"Milord, you DO recognise the design of that boy's cloak," Frederick started, the worry lines on his forehead deepening.

"I do," admitted the lord, already disliking the conversation.

"He has a faint accent. I'm quite sure it's Plegian, too," continued the knight. "I know you can tell as much yourself, milord, so why welcome him into the Shepherds without any consideration for what could happen?"

"If you ask me, he's certainly not a master liar. You know that just as well as I. He also seems too young to be a spy. What is he--fifteen? Sixteen already seems to be stretching it a little," Chrom mused aloud. "As I said, I believe his story."

Frederick hesitated, his frown deepening, so the younger male added, "I don't expect you to give him your trust immediately, Frederick the Wary. But, please, give him a chance to earn it. As for the almost certain fact that he's Plegian, we'll tell him soon, before anyone else does."

The lord was about to turn away, but the older man placed a hand on his shoulder, remorse expressed in the gentle action. "Milord, I do wish to trust him, but my advice stays the same; remain cautious. As to why, please consider his reaction to the bear."

He turned around slowly, a foreboding feeling settling in his gut. "Maybe he's allergic?"

The knight shot him a sceptic look. "Milord, I highly doubt something like that would change flavours."

Chrom frowned, turning to face him fully. "I don't like what you're implying."

"If it weren't for the report of the crematorium being raided, we wouldn't have known about the possibility. Now, however, it would be foolish to ignore."

The lord sighed, "We don't have any other proof of...THAT yet." He turned to leave. "We can continue this discussion with Emm and Phila. But certainly not Lissa. We should spare her of this matter."

The knight nodded dutifully, and bowed slightly. "As you wish, milord."

They made their way back and arrived in the fire's light just as Lissa was attempting to find a comfortable position on the ground.

"Liss--"

She hushed her brother sharply with a finger held to her lips, then silently pointed to Robin. The boy's chest was rising and falling gently as he breathed deeply, and he remained motionless. He was asleep.

"He must be really worn out," Chrom whispered.

"Poor guy," Lissa added.

Frederick cleared his throat. "Perhaps we ought to decide who should take watch. I suggest I go first, then milord, then Robin."

Lissa shook her head vigorously. "I'll take his shift."

Chrom cocked a brow at her. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she answered, gesturing to the boy. "Naga knows he needs a rest after all that's happened to him."

"Is that alright with you, Frederick?" asked the lord, earning a stiff nod as the older man sat down, lance at his side. Chrom eyed it for a moment, before sighing and laying down on the grass opposite him.

It felt like only a few seconds later when he was shaken awake for his turn. Chrom sat up and unsheathed Falchion, then watched over the three other Shepherds around him.

Lissa had done especially well for her first active battle. She had come with the other two to prove herself as a capable Shepherd, and had certainly passed with flying colours. Frederick had been as sharp as ever, pointing out dangers and hazards no matter how trivial, and having a veteran knight in their party certainly helped in combat.

Chrom examined Robin's still form. The boy possessed wisdom beyond his apparent age, despite his acclaimed memory loss, and had put himself in danger to protect the man's life, even though they had only known each other for a few minutes at the time. Perhaps that had to do with Chrom being the first person he saw, and therefore the first person he could possibly have trusted. Whatever the case, a tactician, mage and swordsman all in one was a valuable asset to the Shepherds. Robin should have had every right to be proud of himself, though he did not seem to be that type.

Chrom smiled and turned his gaze back to the hypnotic flames. They were dying down, so he added a little more kindling to the pile. The crackling and popping of the fire was the only sound filling the forest besides light snoring.

He froze, and listened carefully. There were no crickets chirping, no owls hooting, no twigs snapping. There was not even the slightest breeze rustling the leaves and twigs.

Suddenly hyper-aware of his own breathing, Chrom looked around. No fireflies. No fleeting silhouettes. He glanced upwards. Even the stars had ceased their twinkling, and had mellowed their shine. Everything was dead, the thick silence suffocating. A snow-covered desert was deafening by comparison.

He carefully stood up, the noise of his feet brushing against the dirt and clothing ruffling seeming to echo throughout the dark forest. He heard shuffling, and watched as Lissa sat up, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

"What's wrong, Big Brother? Is it my shift, already?" she asked groggily.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, but..." He paused, looking around restlessly as a chill ran up his spine. "Something is amiss..."

She frowned, dropping her hand. "Define 'something'."

"Listen," he whispered, not daring to raise his voice any further.

She remained silent, and even closed her eyes again as she strained her ears. "I don't hear anything," she eventually replied.

"Exactly."

She stared at him, and nodded stiffly. "You're right. Where did the birds go?"

"I'm not sure, either..." Another chill, and Chrom made up his mind. "I think I'll have a look around."

Lissa gasped lightly, and got up as quietly as she could, shooting him a determined glare. "Not alone, you won't! I'm coming, too."

He did not want her to tag along, but she was already picking up her staff. The thought of wandering through the silent forest alone unsettled him, too. He attempted a chuckle, but by trying to stay quiet, it ended up as a shallow breath. "Thanks, Lissa."

She nodded, and they briefly glanced at Frederick and Robin, who were still out cold. Chrom decided they would be fine. Although the knight had his suspicions, in any dangerous event, he would cast them aside, and Robin could hold his own, as well.

They wandered westwards through the pitch black woods. Everything remained still and lifeless, their footsteps and rustling of the vegetation they touched still far too loud for their liking.

"It sure is dark," Lissa mumbled after a few minutes in the suddenly unwelcoming forest, and shuddered.

Chrom halted, tense, his grip on Falchion's hilt tightening. He felt the hairs at his nape stand on end. "Something's definitely wrong here..."

They started as, all of a sudden, they heard birds flying from their roosts, and murders of crows cawing in alarm. It was the only warning they had, before the ground started shaking violently, as if to uproot the entire forest, an ominous rumbling accompanying the tremors.

Lissa screamed as she stumbled, and clung her brother so she would not fall. "Chrom!"

"Gods, what-- Agh!" Chrom's struggled to keep his balance with the extra weight, but inevitably failed. As he, too, collapsed, he stuck Falchion in the ground, and clung to it with an iron grip, just as his sister tightened her hold on him. "What is this madness?!" he exclaimed, wrapping his left arm around Lissa's shoulders and pulling her close.

He heard distressed squeaking, and looked ahead to see squirrels, hares and other rodents running in their direction. They paid the humans no mind as they sprinted right past them, soon followed by deer and other fleeing animals, alarm calls resounding. Chrom was certain he could even hear a bear roar in the area.

The rumbling was increasing in volume, and the unsettling sound of wood splitting was adding to it, nearby trees bending and falling to the ground.

It was coming from right ahead of them, from where the animals were fleeing.

"Lissa. Run," Chrom ordered.

"Huh?"

He gritted his teeth. "I mean it--go!" he yelled, and roughly shoved her in the opposite direction of the danger. As she started running, he saw a crack spreading rapidly in the ground before him, and the other side rising. He stood up and followed her, sheathing Falchion as he did.

An onrush of suffocating heat rose from behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see lava spewing from the crack, which seemed to have become a small ravine. Flaming boulders the size of Frederick's horse flew from the molten rock, and started bombarding the landscape, setting the forest ablaze.

Lissa was only a few feet ahead of him, and farther, a wall of fire was building itself up. She turned right, before a burning tree fell and cut off her path. She jumped back with a terrified squeal.

"Hey! This way!" Chrom called from her left, and arched an arm in the opposite direction from the tree trunk, the only path they had left.

She nodded in affirmation, and followed him to where the trees were starting to disperse, and the terrain ahead came to a sudden halt. Chrom did not hesitate at the three meter drop, rolling to lessen the strain of his fall. His sister came to a stuttering halt at the cliff edge, meeting his eyes.

"Don't worry--I'll catch you!" he yelled up, opening his arms. A flaming ball was heading in her direction, and would soon hit where she stood. "Hurry! JUMP!!"

Shaking her head, she took a few steps back, started a run-up, and jumped, a fearful squeal escaping her as the boulder set fire to the earth behind her.

* * * 

Robin was jolted awake by the ground violently trembling beneath him, a dangerous rumbling echoing in his ears. He jumped up, looking around when he only detected one other scent in the area. Where were Chrom and Lissa?

"Gods, what is going on?!" He heard Frederick cry as the knight attempted to calm and restrain his panicked, bucking horse. Robin stumbled to his feet and grabbed hold of one side of the reins, helping restrain the animal. They heard an explosion, and suddenly the trees barely two meters from them were on fire, setting the horse into even more of a frenzy, whinnying in terror and rearing up on its hind legs.

The great knight yanked harshly on the leather straps to restrain it into obedience, then climbed onto the saddle and reached down a hand to Robin, who accepted it and climbed up behind Frederick.

Before anything else could be done, Frederick led his horse to the other side of the clearing, then twisted around and grabbed the boy by the collar.

"Do you know where milord and milady are?" practically snarled he great knight, dropping his regal facade.

Robin yelped, and shook his head desperately, quivering just as much as the burning forest around them. "Nononono! I don't know!"

Frederick frowned, and dropped the boy for the moment, scanning the area. Robin mimicked him, sneezing when the smoke invaded his nose, burning his sinuses.

It clicked. He could find Chrom and Lissa.

He breathed in deeply through his nose, eyes closed, easily picking up their scents. The trail was as obvious to him as ink on paper.

"Call it a hunch," he said, "but I think they went that way!" He pointed westwards.

"And how would you know?" Frederick asked, a brow raised, and the younger of the two only then realised that the horseman had been scrutinising him.

At that moment, a burning tree fell behind them, and the horse reared itself up again in fright, taking off in a gallop in the general direction the boy had indicated. Robin yelped and clung to Frederick as the man attempted to regain control of his mount.

"It's not as though we have a choice now!" the man gritted out, and gasped as a bright light filled the area from the south southwest, briefly dipping all else in monochrome, before the colours faded back in.

And they saw it.

* * *

_The Butterfly flutters through the gate of light._

* * *

The siblings stood up shakily even though the earthquake had passed. Although they were out of the immediate danger zone, Chrom reassured himself the Falchion was still sheathed at his hip. A river of lava was flowing calmly to their west, and in all other directions, the wildfire continued to rage.

Lissa doubled over, still panting heavily. "What is..." she swallowed dryly, "Happening?"

"I don't know," answered her brother simply. "But I DO know that there has never been a recorded earthquake in Ylisse."

His sister chuckled in between gasps, "Is that all you remembered from our history lessons?"

He cocked a wry brow at her. "At least I stayed awake."

She shook her head in annoyance, before he eyes suddenly widened.

"Chrom, what IS that?!" she gasped, pointing upwards at something behind him.

He turned to see light gathering in an area just above the trees, before it pulsated, and the colours around them turned grey and black. Runes circled the lights as they spread out to a crescent line of crystals. The icy shards pulled themselves apart like eyelashes, until an vibrant, turquoise iris with a slitted pupil revealed itself, and the nighttime, blazing forest regained colour.

Two human silhouettes pulled themselves out of the eye's surface, which rippled like water, before their bodies dropped down to the ground just beyond a few bushes. Chrom watched as the two muscular figures righted themselves, arms and heads still slack, and stared at him.

Two pairs of glowing crimson orbs lit up where eyes were supposed to be, and they moaned in garbled, artificial-sounding voices.

"Lissa, you'd better stand back," Chrom said, unsheathing Falchion. He heard his sister step away, just as the figures stumbled, limbs uncoordinated, into the light the flames shed.

Their skin was a rotten purple, the different parts of their faces crudely stitched together. Their manes of dark hair floated, as if suspended in water, and they belched out thick, foul-smelling smoke just as black as their sclerae.

The right one suddenly broke into a coordinated sprint at inhuman speed, launching itself into the air and swinging its axe down at Chrom. The lord moved forwards, and sliced through its midsection.

There had been no resistance, but he had not heard the flesh rip either, and there was no form of blood or sediment on Falchion's blade.

He heard bones cracking, and spun just in time to block the backwards strike of the axe. The creature's head had twisted itself around to face him, and the being turned to push against Chrom, before clicking its head back into place.

Seeing that chance, Chrom pushed the creature back, then cleaved the axe's haft in two, and struck it in the side with the pommel of his sword, throwing it onto its front on the ground. It groaned as it pushed itself up, before Chrom stabbed it in between the shoulder blades.

It jerked, froze, and groaned lowly as it disintegrated into black smoke, leaving a sweaty Chrom crouched and leaning heavily against Falchion, which was only stabbing the dirt.

A high-pitched scream caught his ears, and he felt his blood run cold.

"Lissa!"

The other creature closing in on her. She gasped when she felt her back hit the cliff face behind her, her staff held defensively in front of her with a trembling grip, eyes wide as the creature glowered at her and raised its axe above its head.

The giant eye started glowing again, another figure reaching out of the surface. They launched themselves out of it, landing with a crouch a little ways from Chrom, who didn't halt his mad dash to his sister's aid to look at them.

The dread that had been pooling in the lord's gut turned to outright horror, as the creature swung its axe down, and Lissa screamed, unable to escape her imminent death.

The axe hit a sword with a reverberating clang. The blade was flat across the upper back of the figure from before, who had placed himself in front of Lissa. Chrom's footsteps slowed to a halt as he observed the show of strength. The creature was probably twice the size of the young boy, yet he continued to push against the force put into the axe.

Lissa slowly peeped an eye open at the sound of the metal clashing, before both widened as she stared in awe at her masked saviour. The boy had his teeth gritted, and tilted his head to look at Chrom.

"Help!" he screamed hoarsely, shaking the lord out of his stupor.

"Right!" He nodded, then broke out into a run once again, Falchion in his grip, yelling in rage, the holy blade glowing blue.

The creature moaned at Chrom's roar, turning its head to stare at him questionably. The masked boy immediately pushed back against the creature, and spun it as he twisted his sword back to a normal grip. He and Chrom slashed through its midsection at the same time, from opposite directions as the creature still spun, and moaned in pain and confusion, the sound of the metal slicing through it echoing throughout the forest.

Starting from the thin line separating its torso from its legs, the black smoke consumed it, and it disappeared just like the one from before.

Lissa shakily lowered her staff from in front of her, and turned to the boy as he precariously sheathed his sword, back turned to them.

Chrom to studied the boy's appearance. He was a full head and a half shorter than the man, but had proven himself far from weak, perhaps even stronger than him. He was dressed in navy, with slightly lighter blue armour padding, and a dark blue cape wrapped thickly around his neck and hanging down to his knees. All his clothing was heavily torn or otherwise damaged, blood stains coating it although he did not appear injured. A headband-like tiara sat atop his sapphire-blue hair, which was styled in a mullet.

"Quite an entrance..." Chrom started slowly, gaining no reaction. "What's your name?"

The boy slowly tilted his face to look at Chrom from beneath the mask, face otherwise unreadable. All he could look through were three narrow slits in the deep blue metal, which matched his light shoulder guards, completely concealing his eyes. The domino mask was pointed at the four corners, the top two larger and accented with gold. All in all, it was reminiscent of a butterfly.

"Milord! Milady! Are you hurt?!"

"Frederick! Robin!" Lissa cried in relief, voice still shaky.

Chrom turned to see Frederick riding up to him, face etched with worry, as well as a rather green-faced Robin, trembling and still keeping a firm grip around the great knight's waist. The boy swallowed and looked ahead.

"Are such horrific creatures commonplace in these lands?!" he squeaked, staring behind the lord, who looked only to see more of those dark beings, moaning and stumbling unsteadily.

"They're not from Ylisse," Chrom stated firmly. "I promise you that."

"A-and earthquakes?"

"Definitely not."

"No one is injured, then?" Frederick interrupted, scanning his lord and lady as Robin shakily got off of his mount, stumbled unsteadily and fell on his front. "Thank the gods..."

"Thank the masked man who saved me!" Lissa chirped as she helped Robin up again, who muttered something along the lines of 'never getting near that horse again'. "If it wasn't for him, I'd be..." She paused, and looked around. "Wait, where did he go?"

"We can worry about him later, AFTER we put these...things...to the blade." Frederick said, brow lowering. "Eyes open, now. We know nothing about this enemy."

"Right. Robin?" Chrom called, jolting the boy from his musings.

Robin surveyed the area. Around two dozen of those creatures covered the ground ahead of them, which was littered with burnt trees and shrubs. The rotten beings were all non-mounted classes, most of them axemen, granting Chrom and him an edge, but leaving Frederick disadvantaged, save for an archer and a few swordsmen to the north. A crumbled stone structure was just ahead of them. Robin studied the formerly thick walls, which had fallen into disrepair, but should still be usable for cover. Then, he noted its squared appearance, each corner marked with a small tower, and it clicked in his head.

"Is that...?"

"An abandoned fort, yes," Frederick answered.

"Then we should take shelter in there. No doubt it will offer distinct advantages in battle, despite how broken it looks," Robin mused aloud. "Lissa, I want you to go in there. Frederick, you get the archer and swordsmen to the north. Afterwards, come back to us. Chrom and I will man the fort and defend Lissa against any other attackers. Go!"

Frederick's mount whinnied as he directed it northwards. Lissa stayed at her brother's tail as they, along with Robin, hurried to the crumbled fortress. The entrance gate, located on the eastern side, was nothing but a heap of burnt and destroyed wood and metal. Deep grooves from the blades of axes, swords, lances, and wind magic, arrows lodged in the stone, and scorch marks from fire and thunder magic decorated the walls like cave paintings.

They entered the collapsed building, then faced the entrance. Robin stood a couple of paces in front of Lissa, Chrom another few ahead.

"Here they come!" alerted the lord, taking his stance. Robin started chanting the spell of his Thunder tome as he scrutinised the three creatures that had entered, absentmindedly noting the smell of fear most prominently wafting from Lissa.

The first one was a mercenary class. Evenly skilled in all aspects, and not specialising in one specific field of expertise, the sword-wielding class was normally a good choice to hire, if they were human, that is. It wielded an iron sword, second tier. The two behind it were both barbarians, axemen bearing nasty scars and war paint over their disgusting faces, and a fur shawl across their shoulders and back. They carried iron axes, which were much heavier and sharper than their bronze counterparts.

"Thunder!" Robin yelled. The ball of lighting struck one of the axemen just as the mercenary charged to engage Chrom. The electricity struck the creature and launched it back, before it started pushing itself up again, and Robin struck the other barbarian. The swords of Chrom and the foul creature clashed, and they locked blades, the creature winning against the lord.

"Chrom, get down!"

The man spun to the left, knocking his opponent forwards, just as another Thunder spell struck it, and Falchion sliced through its neck.

It dissipated into the same foul smoke.

"What the--?!" Robin stammered, eyes wide with horror. The rotten stench invaded his senses, and he felt bile rising up his throat again.

"Yeah, Falchion passed straight through one that attacked before you got here," Chrom yelled back as he charged at the next opponent.

He stabbed the barbarian through the chest, rammed it into the ground and twisted his blade. He spared no time waiting for it to disintegrate, turning instead to the beast to his right as Robin engaged it with his bronze sword. He stabbed it through the neck, and slashed outwards, forcefully ripping apart the rotten flesh, and stared at the corpse as it faded with the same low groan, its eyes losing their glow until they emitted no more crimson light.

Robin shook his head in an attempt to clear the image, and looked at Chrom as they returned to their original positions. "Falchion?"

"My sword," answered the man, planting it in the ground in front of him. "It's a legendary weapon forged from the divine dragon's fang."

Robin tilted his head in confusion. "Divine dragon?" he echoed. "What's that?"

Chrom sighed wearily, almost sounding amused at the boy's obliviousness. "I'll explain later. For now, I'd appreciate you fighting by my side--it gives me courage."

"Thank you, but I think there's more to it than that..."

"How do you mean?" Chrom asked after checking for any more of those creatures, but seeing none.

"... I believe there's a tactical advantage to fighting side-by-side. But... It's fuzzy..." he trailed off with a frown.

Chrom remained silent for a moment, before he said wryly, "Well, aren't you full of surprises..."

Robin chuckled nervously, "I guess I just need a bit of a kickstart."

"Milord!" They faced Frederick as he entered the fortress, and Lissa, too, ran up to meet him. He gave the three a once-over and smiled lightly when he had confirmed they weren't injured. "I've dispatched all of these beasts to the north, and any who impeded my way back here. I also have happened to come across a masked boy slaying them. Would that be the one you were referring to?" he asked Lissa, who nodded vigorously.

"Good. Then my thanks was not misplaced," continued the great knight. "There appear to be no more than half a dozen left. We can perhaps afford ourselves a couple of minutes to rest before the next arrive."

"What are these things anyway? Zombies?" Lissa questioned.

"They DO smell that way..." Robin added, staring perplexedly at the men.

"Beats me," Chrom shrugged, "but my guess is as good as yours."

"No such events have never occurred in recorded history," Frederick stated from atop his mount. "At least, not to my knowledge. Dark magic is the only true cause I can think of for this anomaly. I highly doubt we are at the brink an era where the dead come back from the grave all by themselves."

Lissa sighed in relief, before her eyes widened. "Behind you!"

They turned to see one of the creatures rushing towards them at inhuman speed, from behind Frederick and Chrom. It raised its axe, and slashed downwards with a distorted roar.

Its axe hit Robin's blade. He gritted his teeth, to the point where they would surely crack, and his body trembled beneath the force put into the being's swing. The boy pushed himself upwards, legs and back straightening--

Such strength...wasn't human. The demonic creature was larger, more muscular, and much stronger than what one would expect for a skinny teenager to counter. But aside from that, Lissa's warning had given him the chance to attack that creature prematurely. If they had not been as a group, either Chrom or Frederick could have been gravely injured.

Those were only three examples of advantages granted by fighting side-by-side.

Although, perhaps Robin had possessed them before, in amounts superior to normal humans. With that in mind, he bore his teeth, a low growl escaping him, shoved the creature off of himself, and stabbed it through where the heart was supposed to be, though he doubted its actual existence in those beings.

After it had disintegrated, he bounced up to Chrom.

"I remembered it!" he exclaimed.

A smile immediately formed on the man's face. "You mean about fighting side-by-side?"

"Mmm-hmm!" Robin nodded. "Working in pairs improves strength, defence, and speed among other things! I'm sure of it!"

Chrom looked like he was about to say something, before the Shepherds noticed the sounds of a horse galloping, and turned their attention to the entrance of the fort.

"Captain Chrom! Hang on, I'm coming!" called the new voice.

A woman riding a white stallion appeared at the entrance. She wore scarlet armour lined with white, and her equally red hair was messily cropped. The little exposed skin of her shoulders and thighs displayed lean muscle. Her crimson eyes scanned the fortress, until they landed on the three inside.

"Agh, I knew I shouldn'ta left 'em," she grunted, directing her mount to face the entrance again, and unsheathed her bronze lance. "Alright, you ash-faced freaks! Which one of ya wants to try my lance on for size first? I know just the spot for it: shoved right up your--"

"Hold, milady!" a male voice, with an odd accent, interrupted.

"Muh?" The cavalier faced something outside of the fortress, and gritted her teeth in disdain. "Not you again!"

An archer with shoulder length, silvery blue hair ran up to her side. He wore a dress shirt with loose sleeves and a lacy cravat, a waistcoat complimenting his hair, and a silver piece of armour on his left forearm. A quiver of arrows was strapped to his lower back, and in his grip was a bow lined with iron for durability and power. After regaining his composure, he continued speaking grandiloquently, hand opened up to her.

"Life may be long, but attraction is fleeting. Would you leave me in your sweat dust? Leave war to the warriors, dear bird! A beauty such as you need wage only love."

She scoffed. "The hell are you, anyway?! Quit followi--"

His face lit up. "Ha! Is the lady intrigued? Of course you are--it's only natural." He placed a hand over his heart, and prepared to bow. "I am myth and legend. I am he who strides large across history's greatest stage! The man who puts the 'arch' in 'archer'! My name, dear bird, is Vi--"

"Sorry, Ruffles--no time for this," interrupted the woman, placing a gauntlet-clad finger on his cravat, and flicking him on the forehead when he looked down. "Got some undead arse to kick!"

"...Er, my name. It's Virion! W-wait, where are you going?" He grabbed hold of her wrist just before she clicked her heels into her mount's side. "Pray, at least tell me your name."

She made a noise somewhere in between a sigh and a groan, and looked down at him.

"I'm Sully. And I'm a Shepherd."

"'Sully'? How divine! A starkly beautiful name, as befits its owner, truly." He took her hand in a more gentle hold, and got down on one knee. "Will you marry me, my dearest Sully?"

"Will I what now?" She exclaimed, then paused. "Oh, I get it... This is a joke. And when I put my boot through your face--that's the punchline!"

"You'd better stop now whilst you still can, Virion," Chrom muttered, and Lissa was too busy shaking with suppressed laughter. Robin looked to Frederick, who was watching at Virion with an expression somewhere in between sympathy and as if the archer were mad.

"I realise my manly figure and noble bearing can be overwhelming. 'Tis common! So please, don't feel pressured to answer right a--"

"How's THIS for an answer?!" Sully yelled, and her armoured boot got up close and personal with his face, kicking him onto the ground.

"G-goodness, but those shapely legs certainly can kick, can't they...?" he said, rubbing his face (where he would undoubtedly soon have a foot-shaped bruise) as he pushed himself up, and raised his hand up to her again. "P-please, milady, allow me to accompany you, at least. Mine is a cold, empty world without you. I shall be your most willing servant, and you, in turn, will give my life purpose..."

Sully sighed exasperatedly, "Fine... Anything to shut you up... What? Stop staring at me like that!"

She then rode to Chrom, as the moaning of the last creatures began filling the air around them. Virion followed her like a lost puppy.

"Sorry I took so long, captain." Sully apologised. "A certain someone kept me occupied..."

"It's fine, Sully," Chrom reassured, and eyed the archer. "Is he a friend of yours?"

A shocked expression etched across her face. "Hell no! The creep just hasn't stopped stalking me since the quake!" She paused momentarily, calming herself, and placed her hands on her hips. "But he does have good aim. Wouldn't be standin' here without him. Damn, those things may be dumb, but they sure pack one hella punch..."

"C-creep?!" gasped the man. "You wound me, milady! I am but a simple, yet aristocratic, archer from a faraway land searching for but--"

"Shut up, unless you want to get a taste of my lance next. Don't let that small compliment get to your head," Sully growled. When he bit back an answer, she nodded in satisfaction and faced the others. Her eyes landed on Robin, and she relaxed a little. "You a new member of the Shepherds?"

The boy hesitated for a moment, his first impression of her replaying in his mind. He pushed it aside and nodded. "Y-yes. My name is Robin. It's nice to meet you."

"He's our new tactician." Chrom added.

"And he can wield swords AND tomes," Lissa piped in.

Sully smirked, returning her gaze to the one in question. "Name's Sully. But I think introductions can wait." She jerked her head towards the fortress' entrance. "Well, how 'bout a plan to send this undead turd back to the hell it came from?"

Robin looked to the fortress entrance. Surprisingly, there was only one left, but it seemed very different to its comrades or, in hindsight, minions. This one wore nothing but a loincloth, and carried a hand axe. It's torso and limbs were longer than the others', and its very presence reeked of omnipotence. It roared in its distorted voice and, despite its muscular build, seemed more cautious of its gathered opponents than the rest, even though it was easily a good couple of heads taller than Frederick.

"That's disturbing," Robin muttered. "The others seemed to rely on brute strength to overpower us. This one, however..."

"It's sizing us up, with caution," Frederick finished, an ounce of dread in his tone. His grip on his silver lance tightened. "A sign of intellect."

"A sign," Chrom repeated, looking the tactician in the eye, "but not definite proof."

The boy nodded. He briefly scrutinised those with him. Sully appeared to have a confident grasp on wielding her lance, but it was still only bronze, novice material. On the other hand, Virion had enough expertise for an iron set of bow and arrows, and allegedly had good aim. It was better than no knowledge at all on them.

"Chrom, I want you move beside Sully, and head for its right flank. Frederick assists you two from the left. Lissa, you ride with him. I want you to aim for its shoulders to disarm it. Virion--"

"Goddesses and gentlemen, might I have your attention?" interrupted the foreign man. "I happen to be an archer, the archiest of archers, in fa--"

Robin shot him a pointed look. "You and I attack long range. Everyone stay cautious and alert--we don't know what it's capable of," he concluded, opening his tome.

"Stay sharp, Robin," Virion advised. "An arrow is far more powerful at long range. If it gets within a few paces of us, I will be practically defenceless."

The boy nodded. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

"My pleasure!"

"Are we ready, then?" Chrom asked, to which there was a collective cheer. "Then, let's go!"

Sully and Frederick encouraged their horses into a gallop, the great knight's armoured steed easily keeping pace with Sully's younger, more nimble mount and Chrom trying his hardest to keep up on foot. Robin started chanting, and Virion notched an arrow, and took his aim.

Frederick delivered the first stab with his silver lance to the undead's shoulder. Black smoke burst from the wound, and the knight yanked his horse back to dodge its countering swing, Lissa clutching his back.

"Take THIS!" Sully snarled as she took her turn at stabbing it in the opposite shoulder, Chrom following up by slicing across its armpit. It dropped its axe, and the lord swung at its ribs as it roared down at him, spewing black smoke in his face.

A ball of electricity struck it in the chest, and its head snapped up to look at Robin, smoke disappearing from around its face. Its glowing eyes flicked to Robin's tome and Virion's bow, and it broke into a sprint in their direction.

An arrow with an iron head struck it right between the eyebrows, and it roared in what could have been pain as it collapsed to the ground, and disintegrated with a final tired moan. The arrow Virion had shot clattered to the ground, undamaged.

Robin gulped, and hugged his tome to his chest. "Still lacking wits...b-but less so than the others..." he observed.

"It realised our disadvantage at close range," Virion elaborated, picking up the arrow and placing it back into its quiver, and relaxed.

"Then I'd say that's all of them," Frederick concluded as he, Lissa, Sully and Chrom rejoined them. Robin heaved a sigh of relief, slouching, before his ears picked up another set of footsteps above the drumming of his own heartbeat. He looked up to see a masked person dressed in blue walking up to them. Robin tilted his head slightly in puzzlement.

That person was dressed in men's clothing, and yet, that rancid scent, quite similar to Chrom's for that matter, was most definitely female. From the slight changes in angle of her face, she must have been trying to discreetly look around, and her lips, the only key to her expression, pulled into thin line, her jaw clenching.

Lissa hopped off of Frederick's horse, and made a small curtsy in front of the cross-dresser. "Um, I never got to thank you...for before. So... thank you. You were very brave," she said.

"Yes, thank you. You saved my sister's life," Chrom added, a relieved smile spreading across his face. He held out a hand for her to shake. "My name is Chrom. Might I ask yours?"

The stranger hesitated, and the outstretched hand remained untouched. "You may call me Marth," she replied, voice deeper than what was natural for a girl.

Chrom cocked a brow, hand moving to rest upon his hip. "'Marth'? After the heroic king of old?" After a moment of deliberation, he grinned. "You certainly fight like a hero. Where did you learn your way with a sword?"

The stranger took her time again, but eventually replied in a cold tone, "I'm not here to talk about me." She glanced at the gathered people, and continued aloofly, "This world teeters at the brink of a horrible calamity. What you saw tonight was but a prelude. You have been warned."

Then she briskly turned away, and headed for the fortress' entrance.

"Huh? What's teetering where now? Hey, wait!" Lissa called after the masked swordswoman confusedly, but went unheeded as the young girl disappeared into the night.

"Not much for conversation, is he?" Robin commented, deciding to keep that little clue to her identity to herself.

"It appears his skills lie elsewhere. I wager we'll here his name again..." added the ever-stern Frederick. "But, for now, I'm more concerned about the capital. We should make haste."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For spell chants, I'm latinising the ones said in the FE:A Drama CD series. "Lumen vitae" means light of life (The original is "Radiance of Life" but details).
> 
> Also, Virion's accent is French. Surprise. (Not being sarcastic. Not at all...)
> 
> This may have taken a while, but it's around 10K words, so be. Damn. Grateful. The longest I've written so far is Chapter 18 of this story, which was already 8996 words.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (help!)


	4. Shepherds

"So this is Ylisstol, the capital of Ylisse? I've never seen so many people!" Robin gasped, eyes wide with wonder as he soaked in the view of the city before him. Faced with the imposing buildings, he suddenly felt small and oppressed, but shook off the feeling to let the scenery soak into his mind instead.

The main street was lined with market stalls selling goods and filled with people. Couples young and old, boys playing with wooden swords and shields, girls chatting and making flower crowns and little children clutching their mother's hands to not get lost. He could hear their giggles and the chuckles of the adults in the area. Above all of it, clothing was hanging from the washing lines spanning in between the pale stone houses. Finally on the hill in the distance, overlooking the city, was a pristine white stone castle, completing the skyline.   
  
Sully had elected to take the horses and head straight for the 'Shepherd's Garrison' when they had reached the city gates, and Virion had insisted on coming with her despite her retorts. In the end, she had given up and muttered something about the other members teaching him a lesson.   
  
"It appears the capital was spared the chaos we encountered. It seems the destruction was limited to the forest, thank the gods," Frederick sighed.   
  
"Thank goodness!" Lissa exclaimed.   
  
"Look," An elder pointed ahead. A crowd was gathering around some kind of parade, Robin noticed, which seemed to be coming from the palace. "The exalt has come to see us!"   
  
"The exalt in person?" Robin questioned in Chrom's direction.

The man nodded, and arched his arm in the direction of an alley behind the houses lining the streets. The rest of the party followed him through, past several crates and barrels belonging to restaurants and inns, until they came to a part where another, narrow passage led to the head of the parade, giving them the perfect view of the one leading it.   
  
The exalt's hair fell over her shoulders in two large curls, the same shade as pure gold. Her jade green eyes were kind, and her ivory skin was radiant under the sun's shine. Her pale green cloak, lined with gold, and her slitted white dress billowed in the light breeze. On the back of her head sat a rounded golden crown, looking like a halo.

As she waved to her people, a gentle smile permanently gracing her features, she exuded a near angelic aura of peace and forgiveness. It seemed impossible for someone like her to ever frown, let alone lose her temper. Nobody even minded the escort of pegasus knights as she bent down to receive some of the flower crowns the girls presented her, placing her hand on each of their heads as thanks.   
  
"The exalt is your ruler, no?" Robin asked. He only then noticed that he had been gaping at the scene, and promptly shut his mouth.

"Yes, her name is Lady Emmeryn," Frederick reminded.   
  
"Isn't it dangerous for her to walk amongst commoners like this?" asked the boy, a bit of concern building. Exalt Emmeryn did have an escort behind her, but the knights riding the winged horses hardly seemed to be worried either, despite being fully armed.

"The exalt is a symbol of peace--Ylisse's most prized quality," Frederick explained. "Long ago, the Fell Dragon tried to destroy the world, but the first exalt joined forces with the Divine Dragon and laid the beast low. The current exalt reminds us of the peace we fought for then."

Robin nodded vaguely, and looked at the ruler of Ylisse again. The exalt certainly matched Frederick's description. Everyone among the citizens regarded her with a smile, which their ruler returned wholeheartedly.   
  
"She's also the best big sister anyone could ask for!" Lissa added with a giggle.   
  
"Yes, I'm sure she--" Robin hadn't been paying attention at first, so when the meaning of what Lissa had just said truly registered, it felt like he had run headfirst into a brick wall. He spun around, staring at her wide-eyed in panic. "Wait, she's your-?! But wouldn't that make you and Chrom...?!"

"The prince and princess of the realm? Yes," Frederick finished for him.

Robin looked between them. Chrom, Lissa, and Emmeryn. He had assumed the younger siblings to be of some noble family, and Frederick a guardian for during their travels, but never would he have believed he had been speaking to the crown prince and princess of Ylisse the entire time.   
  
"You said you were 'Shepherds'!" he accused.   
  
"And so we are, in a manner of speaking." Chrom grinned, and Lissa seemed only just able to bite her tongue. "We just have a LOT of sheep..."   
  
Robin may have had amnesia, but he knew that royalty was to be respected far more than what he had done. Gods, he had even vomited in front of them!   
  
"Chrom-- I mean Prince Chrom! Sire! Please forgive my dreadful manners!" the amnesiac stuttered out, and did his best attempt at a decent bow, but he undoubtedly looked as clumsy as he felt.

To his surprise, he smelled Chrom's stench surround him as the prince grabbed him by the shoulders and hoisted him upright, though not roughly. He let out an almost exasperated sigh as he let go of the boy's shoulders, and reassured him, "Just Chrom is fine. I've never been much for formalities."   
  
"The prince and princess..." Robin looked between them again, and their guard caught his eye. He smirked slightly, "That explains why Frederick tolerates all the teasing, eh?"

"Indeed. Oh, the sacrifices I make for the good of the realm..." Frederick muttered the last part, though Robin still heard it perfectly well, even above the crowd's cheers.   
  
"Looks like Emm is returning to the palace," Chrom observed, leading them out of the back alley and back into the main street. They watched as the mass of silver and gold followed the exalt back up to the castle, after she had finished waving goodbye to the crowd. "Would you like to meet her?"   
  
Robin felt his jaw drop. After a few stunned moments, he paled and shook his head vigorously. "What?! No no no no no no...! I can't do that!"

Chrom grinned, throwing an arm around Robin's shoulders. The boy flinched under the foreign touch. Did the prince have no concept of personal space?

"Don't worry, there's no need to be nervous!" he reassured.

Lissa giggled, adding, "Emm's a really nice person! You should be so glad you'll get to talk to her face to face. I know I would be!"

Without leaving him with much of a choice, the siblings pushed him up the hill to the castle gates. Frederick stayed behind them, ever watchful.

When they arrived at the castle gates, Robin noticed a young man, mounted on a brown mare, standing guard at the entrance. His olive green hair had an untameable cowlick, and his friendly eyes were a matching colour. His armour had the same general design as Sully's, and was the same deep green as his hair, and he carried an iron sword. Oddly, he appeared to be the only one guarding the castle gates.

The cavalier's face lit up when he noticed the party, and he saluted Chrom. "Good to see you, Captain! I trust your journey went well?"

"Yep!" Lissa answered, and gestured to Robin. "We've got a new member, too!"

He gave the tactician an easygoing grin, and switched his sword to his left hand before offering the other for him to shake. "Sully told me when she passed through. Robin, right? I'm Stahl. It's nice to meet you, and welcome to the Shepherds!"

The newcomer reached up and shook hands with him. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you, too, Stahl."

"Stahl here is one of our finest," Chrom butted in. "I think you two will get along well."

The cavalier chuckled embarrassedly, and rubbed the back of his neck. "You give me too much praise."

Lissa giggled as the Shepherd opened the gates for them to enter. "Well, we'll see you later, Stahl. We've gotta introduce Robin to Emm."

"Would you like us to bring you a snack?" Chrom asked as they passed through. Stahl shook his head.

"Don't worry about it--I already asked Sully." He paused. "Actually, could you please make sure she isn't the one that makes it? I'd like it to still be edible!" he called after them as he started to shut the large gates.

Lissa nodded. "Will do!"

Robin looked around the bright hallways as they walked through the castle. The carpet was a vibrant scarlet, the marble pillars holding up the ceiling seemingly endless, the occasional portrait hung from the walls, displayed under the sunlight flowing through the large windows.

All of that was underlined by a pungent rotten smell only Robin seemed to detect. It was the same as that carried by Chrom and Lissa, and all the boy wanted to do was escape it, lest he throw up.

However, even before the imposing doors leading to the throne room were opened, he knew that fleeing was not an option.

Ahead was Exalt Emmeryn herself, talking to a woman with ice-blue hair tied into a bun with a blunt fringe, and angulated eyebrows, giving her a permanently angry look, above piercing red eyes, and a beauty spot on her left cheekbone. She wore a golden chest plate and broad shoulder guards, the rest of her sash matching her hair in colour. Robin recognised the uniform as that worn by falcon knights, an advanced class of pegasus knight that wielded staves in addition to lances, and rode an alicorn.

As the party approached, Robin falling slightly behind, the exalt turned to them. Only then did the boy notice the brand on her forehead, identical to the one on Chrom's shoulder. She warmly embraced her brother and sister and wore a calm smile.   
  
"Chrom, Lissa, welcome home. Oh, and good day, Frederick." Her voice was nothing short of divine, like the tolling of church bells. That horrid stench she bore, just like her siblings, ill befitted her. "How fared you all?"   
  
"Well, we shouldn't have any bandit problems for a while." Chrom stated proudly as he broke from the hug.   
  
"Wonderful. And our people?"   
  
"Safe as they could be, Emm. However, we need to watch our borders." Just like in Southtown, the prince's face darkened. "The brigands crossed over from Plegia."   
  
"Forgive me, milord," said the blue-haired woman with a bow. "My pegasus knights should have intercepted them."   
  
"No, Phila," said Chrom. "Your place was here, with the exalt."   
  
"Besides, we had plenty of help!" Lissa chirped and bounced back to Robin behind her. He gulped under Phila's immediate scrutiny, and instead concentrated on not averting his gaze from the exalt.   
  
"Ah, you speak of your new companion here?" Oddly, when her eyes met his, they widened, and she mouthed a slightly surprised 'oh'.   
  
Robin broke the eye contact when he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder, and looked up to see Chrom giving him a reassuring smile. "This is Robin," introduced the prince. "He fought bravely with us against the bandits. I've decided to make him a Shepherd."   
  
Emmeryn blinked, and seemed to shake herself out of her thoughts, before she smiled at the newcomer.   
  
"It seems as though Ylisse owes you a great debt... Robin."   
  
"Not at all, milady." Her soft voice had greatly quelled his anxiety, and his legs finally felt steady enough to support his deep bow.   
  
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but I must speak," Frederick started. Robin nervously bit his lip, suddenly stiff.

"Robin claims to have lost his memory, but it is only that--a claim. We can't rule out the possibility of him being a Plegian spy or assassin. He wears robes with Grimleal markings, has an accent, albeit faint, and he bears the Fell Dragon's sigil on his right hand," Frederick had raised his voice towards the end of his explanation, and left Robin frozen.

He was Plegian? He was of the enemy nation? He then realised why the great knight had always been so suspicious of him. Why shouldn't he be? Robin vaguely recalled having noticed something on his right hand when he had awoken, but what did 'Grimleal' mean?

"Frederick! We discussed this! We were going to tell him carefully!" Chrom snapped, body tense as he glared furiously at the older man.

"Then I would also ask him to lower his cowl," Phila's sharp tone made the amnesiac flinch, and only then did he realise he had thrown his hood over his eyes, and was hugging himself inside the comforting folds of his cloak.

A calm voice broke the tension that had built in the room, seeming to disperse it into thin air. "Robin, may I see this mark?"

The boy lowered his gaze, and slowly relinquished his right hand from within his coat as she approached. She took his almost sickly pale hand in hers, and carefully, as if handling glass, pushed up the sleeve.

They gasped.

Six eyes-like markings, three along each of the two branches that intertwined just above Robin's wrist, stared back at them. The mark was an unnerving amaranthine, starkly contrasting his unusually light skin.   
  
"Robin," Emmeryn spoke softly. "Are you aware of this brand's meaning?" All he could manage was to rigidly shake his head. "It is a brand worn by the worshipers of the Fell Dragon, the Grimleal." She explained. "It was slain by the Hero-King Marth with the blade Falchion a thousand years ago. This mark means you are part of said cult, if your cloak doesn't suggest such already..." She trailed off.   
  
"If I may, Your Grace," Phila started. "That cloak he wears is an old design, therefore I'd say it's most likely inherited. However, his apparent ethnicity does indeed suggest Plegian origins."

"On that matter," Emmeryn started, tone suddenly firm. "I'd actually say he's an albino."

"But don't they usually have red eyes?" Lissa questioned.

"Or very light blue," corrected the eldest. Then she sighed, and gave Robin a sympathetic look. "On the matter of his accent, however, I'm afraid I can say little in his defence--it's too weak for me to tell properly. And this tattoo...as much as I would like to say he's a victim of some sort, I have no proof. However," she looked her brother in the eye, "Chrom, does this man have your trust?" she asked firmly, catching him off guard.   
  
"Y-yes. He risked his life for our people. That's good enough for me." Chrom shot Frederick another glare, but said nothing else on the matter.   
  
"Well then, Robin." Emmeryn spoke calmly with a sincere smile as she let go of his branded hand. "It seems you have earned Chrom's faith and, as such, you have mine as well."   
  
"Milady." Robin bowed lightly, immediately retracting his hand and hiding it again.   
  
She backed away from him, and turned to Frederick the Wary once more. "But I thank you, Frederick, for your prudence, as always. Chrom and Lissa are truly blessed to have so tireless a guardian. I am sure they show it from time to time?"   
  
Her siblings fidgeted awkwardly.   
  
"They occasionally express something akin to gratitude, Your Grace," Frederick said curtly, and turned to Emmeryn's escort. "Phila, I assume you've heard of the deathly creatures we encountered?"   
  
"Yes, Milord," answered the falcon knight. "They have been sighted all across Ylisse."   
  
Frederick sent the exalt a look Robin couldn't identify.   
  
"Chrom," Emmeryn turned to her brother, seeming to brush Frederick's gaze aside. "We are about to hold council. I was hoping you could join us?"   
  
Chrom nodded. "Of course, Emm."   
  
"Well, I guess that's our cue, Robin," Lissa chirped, grabbing his arm. "C'mon, there's a place I want to show you!"   
  
She tugged him back towards the entrance to the throne room, and he barely had a chance to look back before they had rounded the corner, and disappeared from sight.   
  
"What is the matter, Frederick?" Emmeryn asked the knight once the door was firmly shut.   
  
"I did not mention everything, in case Robin might have attacked us," he stated.   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
"We found Robin unconscious in a field to the east of Southtown. The disappearances and the crematorium raid were in the south, and Frederick suspects Robin to be the culprit," Chrom explained, once again glaring at the wary knight.   
  
Frederick shot his charge a strict look. "Considering that the bear we ate tasted 'foul, the juices acidic, and the fat like rubber' to him, he could be the ghoul! Not to mention he appeared to have tracked milord and milady down in that forest, though I can only judge by sight on that matter."   
  
"That is a very serious accusation, Frederick the Wary..." Emmeryn said with a slight frown. She then looked to Phila expectantly, who nodded and stepped forward to deliver her report.   
  
"We've done more research on the victims, and there is in fact a connection between them all," she explained. "They had all committed some form of crime, be it theft, abuse, or even manslaughter."   
  
"That bad? In Ylisse?!" Chrom exclaimed, disgusted at the thought.   
  
Phila confirmed it with a stiff nod. "What's more, because they weren't exactly 'missed' by anyone, we couldn't know until now. This is no new phenomenon, either--only an increase. We can estimate with some certainty that this has begun at least a decade ago."   
  
Frederick frowned deeply. "That long?"

A nod was the reply. "If there is a regular pattern to the increased murders, we estimate it to be at an average of one and a half months. That is assuming there were two at a time. If it is indeed the result of new ghouls in the area, there must be two of them..." She sighed remorsefully. "But we lack the knowledge to prove anything."   
  
"Gods..." Chrom growled, before his eyes widened in realisation. "Emm, what did you learn about ghouls in your studies of Plegia?"   
  
The exalt had studied Plegian culture and language as hard as she could in order to better act for peace, that included at least general knowledge of ghouls. Though the man-eaters lived everywhere, most Ylisseans did not even know of their existence. All Chrom really knew was that they ate human flesh, and were also referred to as the 'Spawn of Grima'.   
  
Emmeryn frowned deeply, and she hesitated before she started speaking, "Ghouls are normally identical to humans in terms of appearance, ageing rate, and intelligence. The only differences there are from humans is their higher physicality, inner biology, and diet. Unfortunately, they cannot find nourishment in human food because of an enzyme their bodies produce. Their tongues work differently from ours, too, and human food can be heavily detrimental their health. They would feel an overwhelming urge to regurgitate were they to eat human food. One body usually lasts them one or two months.

"Ghouls cannot be harmed by physical weapons made out of steel or lower tier materials, unless they have some other quality, like the Wyrmslayer, for instance. However, that is without accounting for their high healing ability. What truly differentiates them from us is that they possess a unique organ, called a kakuhou or kagune sack, somewhere along their back. From that organ, muscle-like appendages, called 'kagune', also described as their claws, can sprout. There are four types of claw, each with different advantages and disadvantages, a bit like rock, paper, scissors with an extra unit. When they're active, a ghoul's physique is strengthened, they become more resilient, and their mobility heightens.

"Their eyes can also change colour into black and red 'kakugan', either by their own will, hunger, or when their kagune is released," She paused, shaking her head as though to clear away mental images. "...That is all I know, I'm afraid. There aren't many Ylissean documents on this subject, nor do we have the necessary equipment to fight one. I...will try to find out more, though."

"I'm sure Miriel knows something. Where could we find the weapons?" Chrom mused aloud.

"The stocks and experienced wielders are on the continent of Valm, only the fewest in Plegia, and next to none in Ylisse and Regna Ferox. We are practically defenceless." At their shell-shocked expressions, she hastily added, "However, I see no reason to panic as of now. We cannot even be certain if it is a ghoul we're dealing with, and even if it is, they just want to survive."   
  
"Your Grace, ghouls aren't human," Phila stated firmly. "You cannot sympathise--"

"Phila, please..." Emmeryn looked at the falcon knight sadly. "As I've already said, ghouls have the same intelligence as humans. They simply have no other source of food other than us. We can eat poultry, beef, vegetables, pretty much anything and everything, but they simply have no choice."

Chrom sighed. Of course Emmeryn would try to feel empathy with any creature, even those bordering on monstrous. He had always felt as though the expression 'They wouldn't harm a fly' had been invented specifically for her.

Although, he was still quite surprised that she would speak up for those who devoured her people. Perhaps it was simply that ghouls were a part of them, so he could not deny her reasoning. Or maybe it was pity. But why? Because ghouls were doomed to eat others? He was not about to question her, though. She was more of a wise leader than he could ever be.

* * *

"You wanted to show me a...bathroom?" Robin asked, looking around the small room of the castle Lissa had brought him into. The water was already being drawn in the large tub, and she answered him over her shoulder as she grabbed various soaps and a towel.

"No, silly! This is to prepare you for what I want to show you. A friend of mine would really hate you if you showed up as mucky as you are!" She placed the items on a stool beside the tub. "I'd also like to check you for any wounds when you're done, just in case," she finished, just as the maids left the room.

Robin retracted inside his cloak. "Wouldn't the maids be able to do that? I don't want to burden you," he mumbled.

She scoffed, and crossed her arms. "I figured you'd be more comfortable with me around instead of complete strangers. And you're not a burden, I just wanna help out. Just because I'm the princess of Ylisse, doesn't mean I like being treated like it, okay?"

He nodded vaguely, and she left him to his bath.

Only once he had entered the water did Robin truly realise how much grime coated his skin, and he did his very best to scrub it off. After getting himself clean, he dressed in some clean clothes the male clergy had provided, including leather vambraces used by mages to hide the mark. Despite how foolish a decision he knew it was, he refused to go without his cloak or the other items he had discovered on his person, and he had also insisted they were not to be washed or even touched. He did not want the scent that clung to it to go. It was the only clue to a person he had once known he had, since he could tell it was not his own.

Lissa asked him to remove his shirt again when she returned. He hesitated, but did as he was told, and she examined his torso and head for injury.

"There's nothing out the ordinary," she mumbled, the glowing orb of her staff hovering above his forehead. "No wounds, scars, or signs of head trauma. According to my staff, you're the picture of health... Although you could do with a bit more weight, in my opinion," she smiled kindheartedly, and only then did Robin notice her close resemblance to Emmeryn.

"You know..." she hesitated, voice suddenly quiet, and he looked up at her curiously. "There IS a mirror behind you..."

Robin froze, and lowered his gaze to his clasped hands. The only thing he knew about his appearance was what he could see of his body and the accounts of others--albino, was it? What would that look like?

He must have mumbled something, because Lissa answered, "Well, have a look and find out." She pushed him up to his feet, and moved him to a corner of the room, near the window, but he continued to keep his head lowered. He heard her smile in her next words. "For the record, I wish I had eyes your colour."

He looked her in the eye, and she met him with a sincere smile, and gestured again to the mirror in front of him. He took a deep breath, and raised his head.

A short, skinny boy, probably in his mid-teens at the oldest, stared back at him. He had milk-coloured skin, soft features, and his messy hair was white as snow. He noted how his nose seemed somewhat flatter and more rounded than what he had seen so far, and he could see the pale green blood vessels snaking across his torso beneath his near translucent skin, making him appear as fragile as a vitreous china figurine. What really stood out, though, was the colour of his almond-shaped eyes; an eerie silver, with a touch of pale azure around the pupil, like moonlight shimmering upon still waters.

It seemed unnatural that someone could be so...colourless. Robin reached up to touch his cheek. The ghostly being mimicked him. It stroked its cheek, played with its snowy hair, and stared back at him with that same blank expression. There was no spark of recognition, no sudden recollection. The movements he made, the one in the mirror imitating him, were the only proof that he was looking at his own reflection--at himself.   
  
"Do you...recognise yourself?"

Robin dropped his head again, and shook it wearily. He heard Lissa sigh, and closed his eyes.

He didn't even recognise himself.

He knew from observation that his appearance was not exactly normal. Combined with his amnesia, and hunger for human flesh... Perhaps all three had occurred because of the same event? Had he used to be different? Normal? Had something untraceable happened that changed his anatomy in some way?

He sighed. All he had was baseless speculations. There was no way of knowing why he was different. All he could do was try to keep it all under wraps--it was better for them not to know that they had taken in a man-eater.

He turned back to face the princess, putting on his best fake smile. "It's alright. Were is it you wanted to show me?" he asked as he reached for his shirt and cloak, putting them on.

"Oh! I wanted to show you the garrison!" Lissa yelped, as though she had only just been brought back to reality. Robin figured he hadn't been the only one musing about their discoveries.

Once he was dressed, she lead him out into the courtyard, and they headed for the outer castle walls. He noticed that there was a door embedded in the white stone walls, perhaps an entrance to the guards' quarters or a storage house.   
  
Contrary to what he had expected, Lissa headed straight towards it, and skipped inside. Robin, however, stayed shyly at the doorframe. She turned around, then grabbed his cloak's sleeve and tugged him a little further in, though he still hesitated.

"Tada!" she cheered opening her arms to the well-lit room. "Welcome to the Shepherds' Garrison! Make yourself at home."

Robin looked around the room. It was full of crates and used weapon racks, a group of people talking merrily in the centre, gathered at a round table. A girl with mouse-coloured hair, ribbon curls draping over her shoulders and a winged clip at the back of her head, in light armour of various shades of pink through lavender, was pulling the petals off of a flower, muttering worriedly.

A muscular, tanned young man with his blonde hair slicked back wore only a shoulder guard on his torso, exposing his well-built chest, was stuck in an arm wrestle with Sully, who was more or less even with him. There was another woman with neatly trimmed, shoulder-length red hair and red-rimmed glasses, shadowed by her black pointed hat, and dressed in many layers of ebon and cream robes. She was taking notes of what she was reading, whilst pointedly ignoring--or perhaps unaware of--Virion's flirtations.

When Robin stepped in, a pink, overbearingly sweet-smelling blurr crashed into Lissa, bringing her into a crushing embrace.

"Darling! Are you alright? I've been on pins and needles!" exclaimed the girl. Her sandy blonde hair was neatly tied into thick curls, held out of her face by a large, rose-coloured ribbon. She was dressed entirely in pink, save for her brown leather riding boots, and had a lacy parasol in her grasp.   
  
"Oh hey, Maribelle!" Lissa greeted casually. Maribelle huffed, releasing the cleric from her hug and holding her at arm's length.   
  
"'Oh hey' to you, too. I've sprouted fourteen grey hairs fretting over you!" she chided, waving a finger.   
  
"Aw, you worry too much. I can handle a battle or two... Although, I could do without the bugs and the bear barbecue," Lissa joked with a wink as she removed her friend's hands from her shoulders. Maribelle shook her head in annoyance, but it was quickly replaced with a smile.

"DAMMIT!" Sully cursed as the blonde man slammed her hand onto the wooden table, before he turned to face Lissa, still wearing a victorious grin.

"Hey, squirt! Where's Chrom? I bet he had a rough time out there without ol' Teach and his trusty axe!" he proclaimed, pounding himself on his tanned chest.

"Oh, so you're 'Teach' now, Vaike, is that it? And here I thought people were just born lacking wits. It can be taught?" Lissa asked back in mock-innocence.

"Ha!" Vaike exclaimed. "Never doubt the Vaike!" He paused. "...Wait, was that an insult?"

"Affirmative," sharply stated the red-haired woman without looking up from her book. "That was indeed an insult. Your lack of awareness to that fact proves you to also be an ignoramus."

"Beg pardon," the other girl, who had put her unfortunate flower down, spoke up timidly, "but when might we see the captain?"

"Poor Sumia." Maribelle shook her head. "She's simply been beside herself with concern... Her eyes were scanning the horizon all day during training." She held her parasol horizontally in both hands, lifting her little fingers delicately, and her back ramrod straight. "She might have earned fewer bruises fighting blindfolded."

"Aw, Sumia," Lissa cooed. "That's so sweet of you to worry about Chrom."

"W-worry?" Sumia blushed, and looked away. "Well, I... He's our captain and our prince, of course I would worry!"

"So, who's the stranger?" Vaike asked, jerking his head in Robin's direction.

Lissa spun around and gestured to the boy with a dramatic flourish.

"No one's stranger than you, Vaike! But allow me to introduce Robin! He's just joined the Shepherds. Chrom's decided to make him our new tactician. You should see all the tricks he's got up his sleeve!" she praised, and the tactician retracted a little further into his coat. If only she knew...

Vaike grinned broadly, standing up from the table. "Oh yeah? Can he do this?" He punched himself in the chest, unleashing a loud, foul burp. Virion and Sumia cringed, but quickly regained their composure. The red-haired woman closed her eyes in annoyance, Sully guffawed. Maribelle scoffed, holding her hand in front of her nose as if to shield it, and Robin repressed the urge to wrinkle his more sensitive nose at the stench.

"I'm sure I have much to learn in the belching arts, 'Teach'," he answered playfully, earning himself an even broader grin. He smiled at the gathered people. "In any case, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintances."

"Ugh, Vaike!" Maribelle scoffed. "That was abhorrent! Must you base-born oafs pollute even the AIR with your buffoonery?! And you, Robin!" She pointed her parasol at him accusingly, the metal tip only an inch away from his eyes. "Don't encourage him! I'd have hoped you'd be cut from finer cloth." With a huff, she turned on her heel and headed out where he and Lissa had come in, shutting the door a little more loudly than was strictly necessary. Robin flinched at the noise, lowering his head. He remembered what Lissa had said on the subject of him introducing himself in the messy state he had been in--Maribelle must have been the friend Lissa had been referring to back then.

Sumia looked at him sympathetically, and spoke gently, "Don't take it to heart, Robin. She warms to people slowly."

"Or burns too quickly!" Lissa added lightheartedly. "But yeah, just give her some time..."

After bookmarking the last page she had been reading, the redhead finally looked up at Robin. She studied him sharply, before her eyes narrowed. She stood up and grabbed him by the sleeve, rubbing the cloak's material between her thumb and index finger, checking the crude seams at his shoulder, and running her finger down the eye-like markings, which Robin then realised were unsettlingly similar to those on his branded hand.

"Miriel?"

"This cloak is of Grimleal design and fabrication. The material shows indications of ageing and multiple repairs, so this Plegian garment was almost certainly inherited." The woman, Miriel, looked him in the eye. "Am I wrong?"

"Grimleal?!"

"Plegian?!"

Those two words echoed in the room, everybody else's faces suddenly turning bitter. Sumia covered her mouth, eyes wide. Virion paled. Vaike gritted his teeth. Miriel straightened her glasses, but continued to stare at the acclaimed Plegian impassively.

"Oi! LISTEN UP!" Sully bellowed above the noise, and everybody fell into a stunned silence. "I told you, Robin has amnesia, but Chrom trusts him! And when has his trust ever been misplaced, huh?!" she challenged. No one answered her, but Virion was visibly intimidated. "Friggin' thought so! If Chrom trusts him, and I can vouch for him, then you can trust him, too! So shut the hell up and AT LEAST give the guy a gods damn chance!" she yelled, and the others lowered their heads, mumbling apologies for their prejudices.

The door behind Robin swung open.

"Thank you, Sully. Although, you needn't have been quite so harsh about it!" jested a familiar voice as Chrom entered the garrison.

"Chrom-- I mean, CAPTAIN! I was-- I mean, WE were so--!" Sumia stammered, running forward to meet the blue-haired prince.

Robin was glad he had sidestepped her, because she somehow tripped over some paper on the floor, and landed face-first on the hard stone. Chrom gasped and rushed to her side, grabbing her by the shoulder to help her stand up again.

"Sumia, are you alright? Those boots of yours, again?" he guessed.

"No-- I mean, yes! I-I mean--" she sighed at her ridiculous answer, then blushed realising how close her face was to Chrom's, which was also a bright pink.

"Psst!" Robin met Sully's eye. She gestured to the two on the ground, then made a gagging motion. He chuckled at that, given how obvious it was that there was something going on between Chrom and Sumia, yet both appeared unable to catch the signals. Not to mention that he could sense that their heart rates and body temperatures had greatly increased.

"Oh," Chrom gasped and stood up with Sumia, both still blushing. "Hardly here for ten minutes and already sharing inside jokes, Robin?"

Lissa snorted with repressed laughter, but replied to his actual question, "Yeah, we're getting along nicely!"

The answer seemed to satisfy him, and he shot Robin a grin. "See, I told you you would. Now, on another matter..." He turned to the others. "Tomorrow we're leaving to Regna Ferox."

"Regna Ferox?" Robin parroted.

"A unified kingdom to Ylisse's North, inhabited by barbarians...or so it's said," Sumia explained to him, her temperature and heartbeat having steadied.

"Warriors are what they are," Chrom corrected. "And we'll need their strength to quell this new menace. Normally, the exalt would request such aid in person, but given recent events... Well, the people might worry seeing their exalt leave, so the task has been passed to us." He made a gesture for everyone to gather around, before continuing. "Now, this mission is strictly voluntary. So if, for any--"

"I volunteer!" Lissa interrupted.

Robin nodded. "Me, too!"

"I'm in!" Sully answered.

"There are some studies I can only find in Ferox, so I would gladly join you on this mission," Miriel replied, straightening her glasses.

"I'll come! You'll need ol' Teach and his trusty axe along for such a delicate mission!" Vaike declared.

"I'll come, too." Robin spun around in surprise, only just suppressing a yelp. An extremely tall young man with a blank face and brown hair in an undercut, wearing large suit of armour with orange lining, was standing in the corner. How he hadn't noticed this man before Robin could not fathom. "What? I've been here all the time," the man stated.

"My my, but how could I refuse to aid you? I shall gladly offer my services to you, Lord Chrom." Virion bowed, drawing Robin's attention away from the mysterious knight.

"I... I um..." Sumia mumbled uncertainly, wringing her hands.

"Yes, Sumia?" Chrom pressed, a concerned frown forming.

"I... I don't think I'm ready for such a mission just yet. I'll probably just get in the way," she explained sadly.

"Well, you could stay at the convoy and watch from afar?" Chrom offered. "It's your choice of course, but some things can only be learned on the battlefield."

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Um, if you think it wise, captain."

Chrom smiled. "Just stay by me, and you'll be fine."

"YES!" She blushed in embarrassment, and finished more quietly, "I mean, yes, sir. I'll do that."

"Good, also Miriel," Chrom caught the redhead's attention. "Emm would like to speak to you about some of your research. You'll find her in the council room."

She nodded and spared a brief glance at Robin, muttering, "How interesting..." She then stood up and left the garrison, along with the royal siblings after they said goodbye to the others.

Robin was left in a dusty room, full of weapons, with people who didn't exactly trust him. He tried to hide himself in his robes, breathing deeply to absorb as much of the calming female scent as possible as he felt their stares boring into his skull.

"I'm sorry," Sumia apologised. "When we heard that you were most likely Plegian, we kinda freaked out and forgot about your amnesia."

"Yeah, Teach doesn't wanna lose a new pupil so soon!" Vaike exclaimed, then brought Robin into a headlock before the boy could move out of the way, laughing with Sully at his own attitude.

Virion sighed. "I would never judge someone by their appearance or background, Sir Robin."

Sully scoffed. "Says the guy that proposed to me after ten seconds!"

"I wouldn't be fussed about grown man in a bib, Sully," Robin squeaked out as Vaike's grip tightened, and the older male started rubbing his knuckles on his head, messing up his hair. The cavalier burst out laughing, whereas the eccentric archer paled at the comment.

"B-bib?! Now see here, you uncouth barbarian! This is a CRAVAT! It is the very height of fashion among sartorially minded nobility," he declared. Vaike let go of a thoroughly flustered Robin in favour of trying to keep his laughter under control, but failed miserably. Sumia only giggled at the scene.

"Sounds fancy," Robin said disinterestedly, trying to pat down the strands of hair that now stood at all angles.

"I can forgive ignorance, but sarcasm is another matter! You've made mockery of the delicate art of hollow flattery!" Virion yelled, clearly offended. Robin paused his fussing and tilted his head in confusion. What had he done wrong?

Sully barked out more laughter. "He's got ya good there, Ruffles!"

"That's one witty tactician we got! Can't wait to see how you handle a battle, Robin!" Vaike praised. Given his confidence, the tactician figured that was no common occurrence.

"There's just one more thing though," Sumia started. "You can wield a sword, right? That makes you a front line fighter... And you'll need to be trained..."

"Aw hell..." Sully groaned.

"Why? What is it?" Robin asked nervously, Virion matching his expression, but instead of Sully, the deep, sharp voice of a certain great knight answered the question.

"Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour."

The room's temperature dropped drastically.

 

* * *

"Hey! Don't fall asleep on Teach!"

The man clapped Robin, who was slumped over the table, on the back. The tactician roused slightly, but only turned his head away from him.

"No..." he groaned. "Please, just leave me here to die..."

He highly doubted he would be up for the march northwards the next morning. He and poor Virion would most likely need to be carried the next day.

"He pushed you really hard... Well, harder than us, anyway." Sully commented. "And here I thought Virion had a difficult run. I can't believe you actually survived that!"

The last exercise--after running five miles, target practice with the new recruits' respective weapons, and ten sparring sessions versus Frederick, which Virion also had to do despite being an archer--had been five hundred push-ups with ridiculously heavy weights on their shoulder blades, for Virion anyway. Robin had had them placed all along his back, another being added every minute. Frederick had said he had put Robin under more strain because he was a swordsman, and therefore a frontline fighter. He had continued the up-and-down motions, restarting the count every time he dropped, until he had become physically unable to pick himself up again. They had all needed to drag them back to the garrison, where he quickly recovered. At least now he knew his body gratefully accepted water. Virion had been brought to rest in the one empty bed the garrison had. There were plenty of other rooms, but they were full, so Robin was going to have sleep on one of the couches.

He decided to change the subject. "Where's Maribelle?" he groaned out, turning his head back to face them.

"Oh, she's staying in the castle," Sumia answered. "She's a noble, so she gets first class treatment. She'll be returning to Themis soon, so she can't take part in our next mission."

He frowned at the unfamiliar name. "Themis?"

"A city near the Plegian border," Sully answered. "Maribelle is the duke's daughter."

"Truly fascinating. I am aware that you possess so-called 'muscle-memory' for physical combat, and have strategies embedded in your mind, despite your retrograde amnesia." At that moment, Miriel joined them at the table on one of the three empty chairs, writing down notes, but carrying noticeably less of them. "My hypothesis thus far is that learning something by heart, or to the point of it becoming instinctual, such as a name, how to speak or walk, et cetera, is independent from the recollection of places or experiences."

"Uh... Okay?" Robin responded unsurely.

"What's taking Stahl so long with the dinner?" Vaike asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"I don't know. I hope he hasn't eaten it all himself, though..." Sumia added, just as the friendly voice Robin had heard earlier that day called to them,

"Dinner's ready!"

The green-haired cavalier, dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, came walking in with a plate of food in each hand, and placed them in front of the two nearest to him, Sully and Sumia, who got up to help him bring in the rest. Once everyone had been served, Stahl sat down beside Robin, looking him up and down as the boy remained slumped over the table.

"Gods, what happened to you?" asked the man. "You look half dead!"

"That's 'cause he kind of is, and Ruffles, too," Sully deadpanned. "Frederick's Fatal Fitness Torture."

"Oh," was all he responded with, before he nudged Robin with his elbow when he noticed the boy was about to pass out. "Eat something before you sleep, or you'll regret it tomorrow," he chided, taking his first bite.

Robin moaned quietly, but pushed himself back up, stretching, and faced the meal. A simple steak with potatoes and broccoli, but the foul stench already told him it would be inedible.

If there was one thing he could thank Frederick for, it was for getting the blood rushing to his brain and giving him time to come up with an idea on how to fake eating the horrid human food (he was glad to have had something to distract himself with from the pain). He cut off a piece of his steak, which was as small as he could get away with, and gulped it down before the taste could even settle on his tongue. He subtly held his hand in front of his neck to hide the movement of his larynx, and faked a minimal amount of ten chews, otherwise feigning enjoyment. It seemed to fool the others.

But it still unsettled him how easy this strategy was for him to act out, and how practiced it felt.

After nightfall, when all the other Shepherds were doubtlessly resting up for the day ahead, Robin curled up on the couch that would serve as his bed for the moment, trying to smother his groans at the pain spreading from his gut. He clutched the woollen blanket on top of him, and even rolled up the material and bit into it, but the excruciating anguish continued to spread through his limbs like wildfire. Sweat coated his face, he panted heavily, and he felt like he would end up vomiting at any moment. He winced as another cramp struck his stomach, and lurched, before swallowing again, but his digestive fluids left an acidic burning in his throat.

Feeling the bile rise, he hastily untangled himself from the blanket and ran into the nearby bathroom. He locked the door, threw his head over the washbasin, and regurgitated every morsel of half-digested food he had eaten until his throat was dry.

Once he had finished, he washed it all away, and leaned heavily on the basin, panting. There was no way he would let that happen again given the choice. Bear meat he had an excuse for, but he would have to think of something else when it came to everyday meals. Perhaps just say he had a small appetite and leave as much as he could get away with? Given his small stature, it would probably work.

He sighed, and looked up at his reflection in the mirror, only just stopping a hoarse scream from escaping his parched throat.

He saw the stranger that was himself, only this time, there was a striking difference that left him paralysed with terror.

His left eye was no longer white and silver.

The sclera was pitch black, the iris a bloody crimson. Hair-thin scarlet blood vessels protruded starkly from his iris, across his eyeball, and branched out across the white skin around his eye. With the exception of the capillaries, and lacking the same glow, it was just like the eyes of those creatures from the night before.

Did that make him like them? Was that what he was? An undead? Did the event that wipe his memory begin some kind of morbid transformation? No, that couldn't be. Necromancy was one thing, but turning someone into a living corpse was impossible without killing them first, and the dead had no need to eat. Not to mention that the creatures from the night before had not attempted to bite anyone, only slaughter them, nor had they appeared to possess clear intelligence, with the possible exception of their apparent leader. He also remembered how well rehearsed that eating strategy had felt, so his biology must have been the same before his amnesia.

He couldn't be one of them. His appearance was, admittedly, out of the ordinary, but Exalt Emmeryn had been quite certain that he was an albino.

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the gentle knock on the door. "Robin?" a voice called.

That scent, that delicacy. Nobody would mind if Robin ate him, would they? Not when he was so desperate, right? His mouth watered, saliva flowing out, thick, sticky drops splattering onto the basin beneath him. His panting became rough, slowly developing into low growls. He felt so, so hungry. He was practically starving. He could--would--easily eat that man on the other side of the door. The others would never even know.

He pushed himself away from the basin, breathing deeply through his nose, allowing himself to get drunk on that intoxicating aroma. He could hear his oblivious prey's ever so fragile heartbeat. He shuddered at the thought of burying his head into the flesh, relishing the latent warmth. He could practically taste the blood that would soon spill over his tongue, his spine tingling with excitement, energy begging for release.

All he had to do was turn the door handle, a mere hair's breadth away from his fingertips.

"Robin! Are you alright?" called the voice from the other side. "I have some water for you!"

He froze, his fingers barely brushing the metal, and blinked. His knees suddenly felt weak, and he stumbled away from the door.

Had he...been about to eat that man?

Robin leaned back against the wall opposite the door. He had, he realised in his sudden stupor. He slid down, ignoring the man's voice, until he hit the wooden floor.

"Robin? Please, answer!" A persistent knock followed the concerned voice. The inhuman boy shook himself out of his daze, and shakily stood back up.

"I..." Hearing the raspiness of his voice, he cleared his throat. "I'm fine!" He hastily wiped away the saliva around his mouth, swallowed, and continued to breathe through his mouth as he opened the door.

The first thing he noticed was the glass of water, which he lunged for and greedily gulped down.

"Are you alright?" Robin choked, eyes wide as he met his gaze. It was the same tall, blank-faced man from earlier, only without his oversized suit armour. Where had he been all this time? "You seemed in pain earlier, and then you bolted."

"I-it's fine now, just a stomach bug," Robin half-lied once he recovered from his coughing fit. He frowned, and met his gaze again. "Wait, how did you even know?"

The man seemed hesitant, but didn't deepen the earlier subject. "Oh, I was there the whole time," he answered wearily as Robin continued to drink. Before the boy could ask about it, he continued, "I was also standing guard beside Stahl earlier, and it's my bed that Virion's using. You also may have noticed that one of the chairs at the dinner table seemed abandoned?"

Robin lowered the glass, looking at the unnoticed man sympathetically. "I'm sorry..." He wasn't exactly sure what he was apologising for, though. For not noticing him, or simply because he couldn't think of anything else to say?

The man waved it off. "It's alright. I'm easy to miss, I know, so people tend to forget about me. My name's Kellam, by the way," added the knight, and the two shook hands. It was past midnight, so they spared any other conversation in favour of retreating back to the two sofas and trying to catch some sleep.

On Kellam's part, anyway. Robin was kept awake by the thoughts swirling in his head. He denied the connection between his amnesia and his abnormalities, denied the he was an undead, and refused to allow himself to be drawn in by the scent of Kellam's flesh and blood again.

But he could not deny one thing--that he needed to eat a human, and soon. If he did not, the demonic hunger would surely strike again, and there was no guarantee that the next victim would come out unharmed an unaware. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been working a little on revising my Untold one-shots, but hey, FE and TG aren't the only fandoms I'd like to contribute to.
> 
> About that spelling mistake last chapter; I missed it because I wasn't paying as much attention anymore, since I was so eager to post it ASAP! Hey, I've seen worse out there (learning English as a foreign language at school despite being a native speaker has its advantages)! Also, I'm going to avoid using italics as much as possible. I'm posting this story on three websites, and only one of them keeps the text format intact.
> 
> I spent a lot of time on the description of Robin's appearance, trying to figure out exactly how to put it. I hope I've given you a nice, vivid image. (Also, go google silver eyes--they're so pretty!) And is it wrong of me to have enjoyed writing the hunger scene?
> 
> Poor Kellam.
> 
> To those unfamiliar with Tokyo Ghoul: Kagune literally translates to Shining Claw, and kakugan means Shining Eye


	5. Hatchling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the M-rating for VERY graphic descriptions and more language! Mainly gore, though. Heh heh...   
> You have been warned.  
> Also, I completely omitted the battle, since it's just unnecessary.

 

The next morning, Lissa took it upon herself to wake everyone in the garrison, alongside Frederick. She may have never experienced his workout from hell yet, but she had seen how it had felled stronger men, and knew it was only a matter of time before her overzealous guardian decided it was time for her to start. She made sure to be the first to rouse Virion--gods knew he and Robin would be terrified to see the great knight first thing in the morning--and be gentle about it, as well as his roommate, Vaike. She immediately asked them where the other newest recruit was, and then left for the living room.

When she had told Chrom and Emmeryn of just how serious his memory loss was, the exalt had tasked her with carefully watching him throughout the mission. Her sister had actually appeared to be quite curious about the boy, but Lissa could hardly blame her. Emmeryn was a sage, a scholar of magic with especially high amounts of mana. And although she had excellent mastery of anima magic, she much preferred studying the usage of staves and healing magic. It had served both her and her kingdom well at the beginning of her reign.

She was probably concerned more than anything. Not only was Robin's amnesia quite serious, but it did not appear to have been caused by anything. Even the possibility of dark magic had been ruled out, as Lissa's staff should have detected foreign traces. Emmeryn was, naturally, far more experienced in that field, but a staff had no reason to be inaccurate.

Quietly pushing the door open, Lissa took in the sight of the room. It consisted of two worn sofas opposing each other with a coffee table, which had plenty of ring-shaped stains marking the wood, in between the two. Robin was lying on the couch just underneath the window, and hadn't roused despite the sunlight streaming in. His legs were tangled in the woollen blanket, as though he had done a lot of tossing and turning, and he slept with a slightly furrowed brow. Lissa knelt down in front of him and shook his shoulder. He stirred, but only turned onto his back, a light snore escaping him.

"You must be really worn out," she mumbled, shaking him again, and gaining no response at all. "Can't really blame you, though, given everything that's happened to you."

A corner of her lips twitched upwards in a smirk. She giggled mischievously, and silently raised her hand above his face, thumb and index finger poised.

"Guess it's time to quietly..." Her hand lowered. "Gently... Hold your nose!" She pinched his nose tightly, and only needed to wait a moment for him to react.

Robin's face scrunched up, and he let out a loud yelp as he started out of his sleep, arms and legs flailing so much in the tangled blanket that he loudly tumbled off the piece of furniture and onto the floor in a heap.

Lissa burst out laughing at his startled expression, and only just managed to scramble out of the way before he landed on top of her, clutching her stomach as she began cramping up.

"'BLARGH'?!" she imitated his scream, and laughed even harder, an unladylike snort resounding from her nose as she breathed in. "Oh gods, that was HILARIOUS!"

"Was NOT!" Robin yelled once he had regained his bearing, glaring at her. "Gods bless it, I was fast asleep!"

"Sorry!" Lissa managed to say in between giggles, so it hardly sounded apologetic. "It was too perfect!"

Robin huffed grumpily as he began wriggling out of the blanket. "Who does something like that?! Is that how your parents raised you?" he growled, bunching it up and standing to angrily dump it on the sofa.

Lissa froze up at the question. He had no idea of what he had said. Everything was most likely as much of a mystery to him as he was to her, so she could not be angry at him, but those words still felt like a stab to the chest. "I... I don't know..." she mumbled, and he turned to stare at her incredulously. "I never really knew my parents..."

Robin gasped, eyes widening as he realised his blunder. "Oh... Uh... I-I didn't mean..." he stuttered, shrinking into himself. Though without his oversized cloak, it severely lacked the effect of hiding him. All he had to do it with was the long-sleeved nightshirt Stahl had lent him, which was still a couple of sizes too big and made it look more like he was wearing a dress.

She waved him off, brushing herself off once she stood up. "It's okay. You didn't know."

He lowered his gaze, ashamed, and stayed silent. For a moment, she wondered if she should ask what was wrong, before he began in a small voice, "Hey... Me being a Plegian, and most likely affiliated with the Grimleal..." He paused uncertainly, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and still not looking at her. "Does that make me a bad person?"

"What?!" She clapped her hands in front of her mouth. She had not intended for the word to come out that way, or at all, and she only felt worse when he flinched.

But of course he would think that. Not only had he unintentionally spoken hurtful words earlier, but they had all reacted negatively to his supposed origins, and had only fed him negative information on the subject for as long as he could remember.

She shook her head and grabbed him firmly by the shoulders. He started again, meeting her gaze. He gave off the impression of a child who had broken their mother's favourite vase, awaiting imminent punishment.

"You are NOT a bad person, Robin," she said, firm and resolute. "Yes, a lot of Plegians are, especially the Grimleal, but Emm, Chrom, and I all wanna believe you're a victim. Frederick does, too, but it's his duty to keep us safe."

He stared at her for a moment, before nodding, but the smile on his face seemed forced.

"You'd better hurry. Don't wanna miss the meeting. It'll be just north of Ylisstol, since we can't have a military force gathering in the city in broad daylight, can we?" Lissa attempted to sound lighthearted as she left the room so he could change, and she had already noticed some things that could interest her sister.

* * *

Robin had realised as soon as he had woken up that the telltale aches of an intense workout the day before were not anywhere in his body. Sure, the exhaustion had been there, as evidenced by the yawn that escaped him, but his muscles had fully recovered from any damage. So much so that he was one of the first to arrive, after Chrom and Frederick, at the northern outskirts of Ylisstol. Vaike, Sully, mounted with her horse pulling the convoy wagon, in which Virion was resting, Sumia, and Lissa had also arrived on time, and they had waited another five minutes for Miriel and Stahl, who were still absent.

"Should we keep waiting?" Robin asked after ten minutes waiting, starting to get a little fidgety under Frederick's constant scrutiny, and keeping his eyes from meeting Lissa's after the earlier incident.

Chrom hummed in thought. "Well, they do know that the Northroad leads straight to the border, so they should be able to catch up." Facing the other Shepherds, he raised his voice. "It seems Miriel and Stahl aren't here yet, so we'll already go ah--"

"W-wait for me!"

They faced the direction of the voice, only to see the olive-haired cavalier running up to them alongside his horse, sweat beading at his brow. He came to a halt in front of the prince, and bent over to catch his breath, occasionally coughing at his dry throat.

"Stahl? Why are you so late?" Chrom asked. Robin handed the cavalier his flask of water, and the man drank it greedily. After giving the tactician a word of gratitude, he only just managed to pant out, "Why am I the last to hear about this expedition to Ferox?"

"Huh? Vaike was supposed to..." Lissa paused mid-sentence, and looked at the blonde man accusingly. "Vaike! Did you forget to tell Stahl about our mission?"

"The Vaike never forgets!" exclaimed the axeman. He then continued meekly, his confidence fading, "I just don't always remember, is all..."

Lissa huffed in reply. "I swear, you'd forget your own name if you weren't constantly saying it to yourself... Speaking of which, are you SURE you brought your axe this time?"

"Hey! That was one time!" A pause. "Okay, twice, but training sessions don't count! Anyway, I got it right here. Teach is loaded and ready for action! Glad to have you along, Stahl, ol' buddy!"

"That makes one of us. I was in such a hurry. I had to miss breakfast!" Stahl retorted, shooting him a glare as he straightened with a tired huff. "There were muffins, and cakes, and... Well, I can tell you the rest while we march..." Robin had made a point of avoiding that meal, and seemed nobody had noticed his absence, either. Good. "Oh yeah, Miriel should catch up soon!" Stahl informed Chrom.

"Right," acknowledged the prince. "Then let's go."

As the Shepherds began the march northwards, Robin leaned in closer him and whispered, "Um, why did Stahl run BESIDE his horse instead of riding it?"

Chrom chuckled, "He's a little...scatterbrained, at times. Although, it's not nearly as bad as--"

"Wait... My axe! Where's my axe?!" Vaike suddenly yelled. "I had it a second ago!"

"...A certain someone," Chrom finished with a pointed tone, and turned to face the axeman. "Vaike, please tell me this is a joke!"

"I'm serious! It's gone, but I JUST had it! It's got to be around here somewhere..." the man muttered as he frantically looked along the ground for it.

"How can you lose a friggin' hulk of metal when you weren't doing shit?" Sully groaned from atop her mount. Stahl, who had tethered his own horse to the convoy, patted her on the shoulder to try and calm her.

"My thoughts exactly," Robin mumbled.

Chrom shook his head annoyedly. "If a battle is met, keep to the rear, got it?"

The boy flinched a little at Chrom's tone, and pulled his cloak more tightly around himself, allowing the soothing womanly scent to fill his senses. Who could it have belonged to? If it was a relative, probably a mother or sister.

He breathed in again, making sure to imprint that scent to what little memory he had. Unfortunately, he could not use this knowledge to try and find that person without exposing his abnormalities, so for the moment, it was a lost cause.

"Robin!" He felt a hand grip his shoulder and yank him to the Chrom's side. The tone in which his name had been called suggested the man must have been trying to catch his attention for some time. He pulled his hood down when he noticed the shadow over his eyes, and looked up at him in mild confusion at his actions.

Despite his earlier annoyance, the prince couldn't help but laugh at the expression. "You were straying from the road!"

Bouts of laughter were heard behind them, and Robin pulled his cowl back up to hide his reddening cheeks, and shook his head vigorously.

"Was there anything else?" he retorted, head lowered.

A small chuckle escaped Chrom again, and he clapped Robin on the back. "I just wanted to let you know that a name has been chosen for those creatures the other night. We're calling them 'Risen'."

"'Risen'?" he echoed.

"Since they appear to have RISEN from the grave," Chrom answered, and Robin nodded.

A pregnant silence stretched out between them, during which Robin felt the prince continue to stare at him. He chose to ignore it, instead distracting himself by looking at the unfamiliar rolling landscape. He made sure to not drift off too far in his thoughts again, or let the female scent distract him again.

They finally decided to set up camp just before dark. Frederick lit the fire, Virion and Sumia unpacked everything from convoy, Stahl volunteered to make dinner rather than let Lissa do it, and everyone else helped put up the tents.

After dinner, which Robin had expelled under the pretext of needing to relieve himself--it was the only way he could rid himself of Frederick's watchful eyes, but that didn't soften the blow to his dignity--, everyone gathered around the campfire for a while. Lissa and Sumia had already decided to retire for bed, but everyone else, including a much healthier-looking Virion, continued light conversation until they heard metallic scraping.

"Splendid! It seems I've caught up," muttered an eloquent voice, just before Miriel appeared in the fire's light.

"Woah! My axe!" Vaike exclaimed, grabbing the iron weapon the mage had been dragging behind her and easily resting the haft on his shoulder.

After brushing herself off and regaining her composure, she stared him down. "I wondered what manner of ignoramus would mislay their weapon, before I recalled who the person deserving of such a title was."

"Thanks, Miriel!" Vaike replied, then paused as her words sunk in. "Er, for the axe, anyway!"

"Perhaps next time I'll use a spell to fasten it to your hands." She straightened her glasses, looking at him sharply. "Permanently."

"Er... Right! Teach'll...um, go now," he stammered nervously, backing away into one of the tents lined in a circle around the campfire. He then stumbled back out of Sully's tent, grinning as though nothing had happened, and left to find his own.

"Why were you late, Miriel?" Chrom asked once the woman had sat down, Sully, after shooting the dense axeman a glare, passing her some leftovers.

The mage finished chewing before she replied. "I was delivering the remaining research documents to Her Grace, as per your request. As you recall, I had not had them all in my possession when you first summoned me."

Once she had finished her meal, they called it a night and retreated into their tents. Robin was sharing one with Stahl, and had a significantly better rest than the one he had gained at the garrison.

The second day was rather uneventful, but it was becoming much colder the further north they travelled. Despite how thick Robin's cloak was, it didn't protect against the lowering temperature at all, and he was one of the first to feel it. When he began shivering and his teeth started to chatter, he felt a mass of warmth drape across his shoulders. He sighed in relief, looking up at what it was.

Bear fur, handed to him by Frederick. He stared up at the great knight in confusion. Surely his armour would be like wearing ice plates at this point, not to mention his suspicions.

Frederick seemed to note the reaction, and sighed wearily. "You were beginning to look like an icicle. I couldn't allow you to be that cold."

"B-but what about...?" Robin stuttered through his still chattering teeth, but was interrupted.

"If you are talking about my caution, I will have to say that milord's wishes come first."

Robin looked ahead at Chrom, who was conversing with Sully, then noticed that although they were wearing cloaks, they were not as thick or furry as Robin's, nor did they seem as perturbed by the temperature anymore. He turned to look at the others, seeing that no one else was feeling the cold like he was.

"Why am I the only one who's freezing?" he questioned, looking back at Frederick expectantly.

"Plegia is a desert land." At Robin's blank expression, he decided to continue, "The Continent of Ylisse is divided into three lands--Regna Ferox, a country frozen even in summer, covers the entire northern half. The Halidom of Ylisse is the second largest land on our continent, and shares its name. It covers the east. The Theocracy of Plegia is the smallest, to the west, and the Great Sea beyond separates the Ylissean Continent from the Continent of Valm."

Robin nodded attentively at every fact, trying to absorb as much of the information as possible.

"Plegia is a theocracy?" he questioned. "As in a land governed by priests?"

Frederick frowned. "Well, not as of this moment. They have a king, but Plegia was founded by the followers of a single religion..."

"...The Grimleal," guessed the tactician, and he did not even need to look up to know the great knight's response--a stiff nod, and a sharp gaze.

He only raised his head when he felt a new burst of cold, moister than before, on his nose. Robin looked up to see glittering white particles drifting down from the sky. He felt himself stop to observe the snowflakes floating downwards, almost like frozen flower petals, with childlike fascination.

He relinquished his hand from the fur cloak and held it up to catch one, and was more prepared for the inevitable cold when the snowflake landed softly on his palm, delicately balanced on its crystalline branches.

He heard Lissa giggle at him. "Do you recognise what it is?"

"Yeah, it's a snowflake." Noticing her mildly perplexed expression, Robin elaborated, "It's strange. I know what it is and what it's like, but it's still like I'm seeing it for the first time." He looked at his open palm again, only seeing a small drop of water. His face fell. "I knew it would melt, but I'm still disappointed..."

In the evening, when Robin was sorting out his bedroll, he heard Stahl call from outside, and he smelled Sumia beside him.

"Robin? Can we come in?"

"Yeah, come in," Robin called back, flattening out the creases of his thin mattress. He heard the tent flap open, and the faint smell he could only identity as human food followed suit.

"What's this?" he asked with mock-obliviousness, looking up from the bedroll. He immediately noticed Sumia was nervous, the smell of anxiety almost tangible to him, and was hiding something behind her back.

"Well..." Stahl started, sitting down on the bed beside him. "I noticed how uncomfortable you seemed to be, and that you aren't eating much."

"So, Stahl and I made something just for you!" Sumia finished, revealing what was behind her back. On a plate was some kind of pie, already cut into decent slices, which was all Robin knew about it. She sat down on her knees beside him, placing the dish down between the three of them. "There's rhubarb in here, which helps clear out your bowls. This recipe always perked me up, and Stahl added some medicinal herbs, just in case."

Robin cocked a brow, and looked at the other man. "You know medicines?"

The cavalier chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. "My father is an apothecary, so I kind of learned the trade from him. Given all the horrible meals Sully makes, this kind of knowledge was needed around here!"

"And greatly appreciated!" Sumia added.

He shrugged. "Maybe, but YOU'RE the one who baked this, Sumia! I just added a few ingredients."

Her cheeks reddened slightly, and she shook her head. "Oh! It was nothing!"

"You've been practising these for weeks! It's gotta be good." His face fell. "Man, I'm getting hungry just thinking about it..."

"You can have some, if you want," Robin offered, perhaps a little too hastily. Stahl nodded enthusiastically, reaching out for one of the slices. Sumia lightly slapped away his hand.

"Shouldn't you at least let Robin have the first try?" she asked.

He chuckled sheepishly, and pushed the plate a little closer to Robin. "Sorry!"

The man-eater inwardly sighed. This was the exact scenario he had been praying would be avoided--eating under especially watchful eyes.

He grabbed the smallest piece in his proximity, raised it to his lips, and forced himself to bite into it, cupping his hand to catch the sauce. He swallowed before the taste could pool on his tongue, 'drinking' it, so to speak, and feigned enjoyment for the food.

"Mmm-hmm!" He faked a deep gulp before speaking clearly, "It's good!"

Stahl practically lunged for a piece of his own. Sumia lowered her gaze with a small smile.

"Really?"

"Yep, really!" answered the boy, reluctantly taking another bite to make his, in reality, non-existent point.

She smiled and nodded happily, standing up. "Well, I need to help Lissa out with something, so I'll leave you two to the pie."

She waved as she left the tent, promptly followed by a thud, muffled by the snow, then an 'I'm fine!' as she tripped outside.

"What's stopping her from making a move?" Robin asked once she was out of hearing range, referring to her relationship with Chrom.

"Well," Stahl sighed, "her childhood friend has always had a crush on Chrom, ever since she joined the pegasus knights. And Sumia... She just doesn't have the self esteem yet, I suppose. That and the captain is just too dense to realise his own feelings for her. Although, I think she's been practising these for a while... Can't think of why!" he exclaimed sarcastically, prompting a grin from the boy. He then eyed the steaming rhubarb pie, and lowered his voice. "Anyway... Could I have some more of that?"

Robin laughed.

* * *

"The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy a world."

~ Hermann Hesse, Demian

* * *

Robin groaned, lying curled up in a ball once again, fighting the burning of his innards as it spread throughout his body. The onions had felt like bug wings, the sauce had tasted like dirty dishwater. The, allegedly, surprisingly good rhubarb was like grass, tough to tear and getting stuck around his mouth, wrapping itself around his teeth with every mastication.

He could hardly bear the thought of throwing up the meal Stahl and Sumia had gone out of their way to make. Sadly, Stahl had seemed to be quite observant, noticing how uncomfortable Robin felt during meals despite his best efforts to hide it. So at least until the initial pain passed, however long that might take, he had to be especially careful around the cavalier.

Stahl was fast asleep. The boy assumed it to be around or past midnight, since he could only hear snoring and Vaike yawning and pacing during his watch shift.

Wait, that was a lie. There was another set of footsteps. Two more, three more.

Robin jolted up from the bedroll, cocking his head and closing his eyes as he continued to listen to them. They were quiet and controlled, suggesting the group of three was experienced. They were nearing the camp from the forest to the north, judging by the reverberations they created near the wood. However, he could hear their teeth chattering, much like his own. Not locals, then, Robin mused grimly. By the force of their feet hitting the ground, he estimated them to weigh around sixty to seventy kilos, a bit underweight, since the rhythm of their gait suggested every one of them was male.

The inhuman boy breathed in deeply through his nose. Male humans, he confirmed. Rotten teeth, bad breath, hadn't washed for weeks, but enticing flesh and blood like any other human.

As quietly as he could, the man-eater snuck out of his many layers of blankets, shuddering at the onrush of cold, and reached for his cloak in the dark. He paused, a little shred of knowledge itching at the back of his mind, then searched through the large pockets, and unravelled the black clothing he had discovered the night the Risen had first appeared. The trousers were a little loose, but the leathery top would be skin-tight. He turned it over, and noticed that the entire back was cut out, and the two items were accompanied by a knee-length, equally ebon cape, and fingerless gloves.

He slipped the clothing on, as well as his usual boots, then the fur coat on top of it all, and snuck out of his tent. He stalked through camp, avoiding Vaike as he did, and entered the trees on the edge of the clearing. Fortunately, the little snow that had fallen earlier that day hadn't settled, so he didn't need to worry about footprints to cover. He sniffed the air again, then took a detour, bypassing the three men and moving behind them, quite a ways away from the encampment. He watched them from behind one of the many bushes, in a low crouch.

The three imposters were lanky, long-limbed men, their skin an almost sickly shade of brown, nearing grey, dark hair overgrown and stubble unshaven, wearing clothing even thicker than Robin's. Even the Shepherd could tell their skin tone and proportions were notably different from those of Ylisseans. They talked animatedly amongst each other in the triangle formation, seemingly frustrated, before the one up front shushed the other two, adding what Robin assumed to be a cuss at the end, judging by the tone of voice, in foreign tongue.

Robin lowered himself further onto all fours, eyeing the tree to his right. The highest branches were still thick, he observed, slipping off the fur cloak, and raising his haunches. He took a moment to focus on the desired branch, eyes sharp, then leapt up onto it. As soon as his feet met the wood, the soles of his boots annoyingly providing little friction, he grabbed hold of the tree trunk, digging his fingers into the bark before the branch could start swaying and rustling, alerting them to his presence.

The three continued conversing, but quietened down, pointing in the direction of the camp. What were they doing? Robin felt a shiver run down his spine, goosebumps forming on the exposed skin of his back. Why wasn't it covered, anyway?

He shook the thoughts from his head, crouching down and throwing the black cowl over his head, gaze level and focused on the slightest movement, the minutest detail. He breathed quickly and deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring, picking up every trace of their scents. He listened to their calm heartbeats, the palpitating a constant reminder that they were alive, and unaware of the danger the were now in.

Robin tensed up, arching his back, eyes narrowed. Then he pounced.

He landed on his hands first, driving the heads of the left and right intruders into the ground with a sickening splat and the cracking of bone, crimson liquid splattering from their broken and crushed faces, decorating the nearby trees and bushes, and the man-eater landed on the back of the middle person, pushing him down with his foot. The two beneath his hands died on impact, before they could so much as scream, skulls completely flattened, like grapes crushed between the thumb and forefinger, with cranial fluids and matter leaking out of the cracks, mixing with the blood. Only the one restrained by a foot at his nape was left alive, though with a broken nose at best, any cries of pain muffled by the leaves of the forest floor.

A guttural snarl tore from Robin's throat, and he felt his left eye change into that Risen-like appearance. He pushed the man further into the ground, eliciting another muffled scream, before he grabbed him by his freshly blood-coated hair and yanked his head up to look at him. His nose was indeed broken, crushed even, blood dripping down his face, mixing with tears of pain, and the skin and muscle above his left eye had been torn apart, probably from landing on a rock hidden by the leaves, the cracked ivory bone of his skull exposed to the frigid air, stained in scarlet and thick trails of the liquid running down his face, pulsating from the rapid pumping of his heart.

"Why are you here?" Robin hissed, only gaining a choked sob in return, and a fearful gasp when the man noticed his changed eye. "Answer, or you'll end up the same as your two comrades here. And keep it quiet."

The man would have cried out at the sight of his accomplices if Robin hadn't clamped his mouth shut, leading to a badly bitten tongue. As immoral as it was, the tactician couldn't bring himself to feel remorse in the face of his pain. He had no need for his captive to make an excuse for their nearness of the camp, anyway. The answer was as obvious to him as the way they had shivered despite their clothing, the same way he had, their foreign appearances, and tongue.

Plegians. More likely than not after the crown prince of Ylisse. Why else would they be this far to the north in the halidom? Plegia was calling for war, and killing the prince was perfect incentive. Surely, no matter how hard Exalt Emmeryn then tried to dissuade her subjects, conflict would be inevitable. Even Robin, with his meagre experience, could tell that much.

Of course, prejudice was no excuse to not grant the man a swift, painless end. He roughly grasped the spy's shoulder, then the hair, and snapped his head to a ninety-degree angle. Bone splinters protruded from the skin of his neck, and the man-eater dropped the third corpse.

He froze. He could feel it building up in him again. That urge that made his spine ache in anticipation, the growling and twisting and clenching of his stomach, abdomen suddenly feeling constricted and hollow, heartbeat speeding up, breathing growing ragged and heavy, pants turning into growls, thick, tacky saliva dribbling down his chin, his monstrous appetite begging for him to gorge himself on the juicy flesh in front of him.

Two red-coated fingers reached up and plunged themselves into Robin's mouth, the taste of the delicious blood making him freeze up, until they his the back of his throat. He gagged, the half-digested pie building its way up his throat, and he heaved his stomach's contents onto the corpse beside him. There wasn't much, but that only left him with several dry, painful convulsions, and he felt a pang of guilt at the thought of rejecting what Sumia and Stahl had put so much effort into.

The thought quickly vanished at the seductive aroma flooding his senses, the alluring blood flowing in ruby rivers down the victim's face and neck, his clenching guts audibly begging to be filled...

To his impaired sense of reason, which was burning away in the fiery anguish of his hunger, it was all too enticing.

He dived straight for the corpse's twisted neck, teeth rupturing the flesh and shattering the bone. He swallowed, flavour exploding on his tongue and a pleasured sigh of relief escaping him. He compulsively bit down again. He couldn't even find the heart to care for that man's life anymore. All that mattered was that he could finally eat, finally be rid of that uncontrollable hunger!

Blood quenched his thirst. Flesh filled his empty stomach, extinguishing the torturous starvation. He felt bones crush under his strong jaw. He dislocated joints and broke off limbs to plunge his teeth into the perfect, most intoxicating spot. Wolfish growls escaped him between each bite. He felt his spine, at waist height, spark with energy, and the skin of his back painfully tear apart as four appendages burst out and pierced the corpse, wrapping around the organs inside. He dug his teeth into the meat, and prised it off the bone by curling his spine and using his entire body to forcefully rip it off, throwing his head back in succession and hedonistic delight, blood arching above him, dribbling down his front, coating his face and drenching his hair. The appendages ripped themselves out of the body, splattering more blood and shredded innards in the area, wriggling and squirming excitedly with him, spasming with every lunge for food.

Only when there was no more flesh to be devoured and the adrenaline rush faded did Robin lull, slumping onto his haunches. The appendages, still dripping in crimson and viscera, retracted back into his body and the skin healed over where they had burst through. He sighed in content, allowing himself to fall onto his side, stomach completely filled and weariness swirling his thoughts in a pleasant fog. Before he let himself fall asleep, however, he noticed something light sticking out of the untouched corpse's robes. He reached out, pinched the tip of it, and pulled.

Out of that man's pocket came a crinkled, but otherwise pristine white feather, as long and broad as Robin's entire arm. Whatever animal it came from, it must have been quite large. He remembered Sumia saying that feathers were used for fortune telling, a practice she seemed quite fond of, so he flattened it out a little and resolved to give it to her in the morning. A thank-you gift for the pie, even though he had certainly not enjoyed it. It's the thought that counts.

Unfortunately, as comfortable as the leaves were, as heavy as his eyelids were, as calming as the gentle moonlight was and as relaxed as he felt, he knew he had to return to camp, and not in the state he was in. It took quite a lot of willpower to make himself get up again, but eventually, he managed to grab the fur cloak and drag the corpses further away from camp for some other predacious animal to eat. He then cleaned himself up at a nearby river, the cold water helping him wake up a little, changed into his nightwear after returning to his tent, then collapsed into bed, out cold before he even hit the mattress.

* * *

"You're looking much better today! And you certainly slept well, too, judging by how hard it was to wake you!" As though to prove Stahl's point, a large yawn escaped Robin. "So that pie helped?"

Robin took a small bite of his minimally-sized portion of eggs and bacon. They were sitting with most of the Shepherds around the campfire the next morning, eating breakfast. Knowing how a human would react to that last comment, he shot the cavalier beside him a look. Stahl chuckled nervously, his smile fading, and he played around with his second helping of bacon.

"Okay, so I may or may not have eaten most of it and only left you with some scraps, but I'm glad you're feeling better now!"

Robin held the stare for a moment, then let a laugh bubble forth, turning back to his meal. "Don't worry, it's fine. I wouldn't have finished it anyway."

The smile returned. "I guess you just have a bit of a small stomach, don't you?"

It took all of Robin's self-restraint to keep a smile at bay at those words, the sign of a small victory. He nodded again, just as he came to another realisation--after a battle, any human would be starving, meaning he would have to at least eat a normal portion. He suppressed a sigh at the thought of his excuse only being possible for so long within the militia, just as Sumia, Lissa, and Sully joined the rest of the Shepherds around the campfire. Robin took that as an opportunity, fishing for the feather in his cloak and calling the mouse-haired woman over.

"Woah!" Her face lit up in both surprise and giddiness as she carefully clasped the delicate object in her hands. "This is a pegasus feather!"

Sully, who had just sat herself down beside Stahl, resting her arm on his shoulder despite his protests, cocked a brow. "The hell did ya get that from? Pegasi don't just approach anyone, especially men."

Sumia paused her careful study of the feather to look at the boy questioningly as well. Robin chuckled nervously, "I found it this morning." He took another spoonful, cutting himself off and hoping to avoid any other questions. He really didn't want to lie if he didn't have to, despite knowing how big a lie he was telling all the time.

He had quickly discovered that he loathed being dishonest. It left a bad taste in his mouth when the words of pretext left him, with the forked tongue that could crumble the greatest of friendships, even nations. He hated lying to these people, who had been nothing but good to him.

And yet, he could do nothing but convince himself it was for all their protection, even if it meant building up walls, and in their best interests that his differences remained a secret. If not, he would lose a home, and they would lose a tactician. He just needed to be especially cautious around people as observant as Stahl, as sharp as Miriel and as attentive as Frederick. A single slip up could spell his doom.

Even so, he felt like he had eaten their food every time he spun a false tale.

Sumia smiled, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. "Finding a pegasus feather is considered good luck. Sadly, you can only use them to tell fortunes once before you need a new one."

If it worked anything like how Sumia always demolished those poor flowers, Robin didn't doubt it.

After finishing their meal and breaking camp, Chrom and Lissa conversed at the head of the party, Robin trailing behind them, lost in thought. The men he had killed may not have been evil through and through. What if they had families? Robin would have widowed women and robbed children of their fathers. He felt himself shudder, and tears begin to prick at his eyes. He hid them under his cowl.

He knew it was wrong to take a life, and he knew he must have had the blood of countless people on his hands if they were all he could eat. But he couldn't let himself feel remorse every time he devoured--'ate' simply couldn't describe what he had done--someone, either. The way he ate humans was the same way they ate pigs and sheep. It was simply a case of acceptance which, when faced with this logic, humans would naturally lack. If the cows and chickens they bred solely for consumption possessed the same intelligence as they did, they would also be horrified at their fates. He was above humans in the food chain. It was as simple as that.

Unfortunately, much like the events in Southtown, he had no way of knowing just who he had killed the previous night. All he could do was grant them a swift death, and ensure that he killed as few people as possible.

The inhuman boy was prised from his thoughts by the scent of blood, some of it human, but most belonging to some kind of animal. He looked into the distance, seeing a mass of white approaching them with an obvious limp.

Chrom noticed it, too, and cocked a brow as he ordered the Shepherds to halt. Lissa squinted, trying to identify the stumbling, bloodied creature. She gasped, "Hey, is that what I think it is?"

Robin looked between the two questioningly, just as the creature came to a halt a cautious distance away from them.

It was a horse with a pure white coat and mouse-grey mane, wearing steel armour similar to that worn by Stahl and Sully's mounts, but obviously forged to be lightweight. The most stark difference, however, was the addition of feathered wings almost double its entire body length sprouting from the middle of its back, just behind the straps for the saddle.

But that same bright coat and plumage was coated in blood, both from the creature itself and that of a female human. It kept its left front leg off the ground to avoid putting pressure on the deep gash just below its knee. Its right wing was being dragged across the grass, the plumage bloodied at the joint and much of the feathers shredded around the two areas, and the saddle it wore was especially bloodstained.

"Is that...?" Robin murmured.

"It's a pegasus," Chrom answered, scrutinising the wounds with a grim expression. "This one was part of the pegasus knights, as well."

"Was..." Robin echoed distantly, lowering his head respectfully to the fallen rider.

Chrom mimicked the action. "It was probably trying to get to Ylisstol. They're trained to return to the last base they've visited if they lose their riders. I always hoped it would never come to that, but..." He trailed off. After a moment, he slowly approached the mount, hesitating when it's heavy panting sped up. It snorted, then stood on its hind legs and kicked at the prince, healthy wing flapping, eyes white with fear. The man reeled when one hoof got a little too close for comfort. "WOAH! Down, girl! Easy there!"

He attempted to approach it again, stance lowered, but the distressed pegasus bucked, whinnying in panic, and kicked at him with its hind legs. When he stepped back to a safe distance, it relented to its exhaustion and lowered its head and wing, flanks heaving with every breath.

"Captain, one moment!" they heard a girl call from behind.

The three turned around to see Sumia approaching hastily, before she tripped on nothing in particular and landed flat on her face, skidding forwards a little in the dirt. Robin counted it as the tenth time so far during the march.

"Sumia!" Chrom exclaimed, dashing to help her get up again. "Are you alright? ...Those boots of yours again?"

Her face turning a bright shade of pink, she stared at him for a moment, before she gasped and vigorously shook her head.

"No! I mean, yes! I mean..." She gave up with a sigh, standing. Chrom lingered a little longer than was necessary before he let go of her arm, clearing his throat before he took on a firmer tone.

"Well, come no closer," said the prince, placing himself between her and the panicked mount. "This beast is crazed!"

She smiled gently, and shook her head. "It's okay, Captain. I can handle this..." With an unusual sense of conviction, she slowly made her way around him and towards the pegasus, hushing it with soothing nothings as she did. "Easy now, girl. I won't hurt you."

The winged horse scraped at the dirt with its hooves as it turned to face her, but it was noticeably less agitated. Everyone watched with bated breath as she reached out a hand to the pegasus' muzzle. It recoiled at first, but as it realised she wasn't a threat, calmed and allowed her to stroke it on the skin uncovered by the steel plating, ears drooping a little. After a few tentative caresses, Sumia carefully made her way around it to the side of its neck, and it stayed relaxed, even huddling her close with its uninjured wing.

"How did she calm it so quickly?" Robin found himself asking, in awe at the muted display of affection.

"That's incredible, Sumia!" Lissa exclaimed.

"I've never seen anything like it," Chrom said to himself, voice low so as to not disturb them.

She blushed again, hiding her face slightly in the grey mane. "Oh, it's...it's nothing. Really. I just have a way with animals, I guess."

Chrom grinned. "I should say so!"

She smiled, then jerked her head northwards as she directed the mount off the dirt road and into the grass. "You all go on ahead. I'll dress her wounds and catch up as soon as we're able." Her gaze softened as she looked at the creature and its wounds. "Poor thing, she probably lost her rider, somehow..." She opened the satchel at her waist, pulling out the feather and placing it in its mane. "I'm assuming this is yours."

"Musta been one of those damn Risen that got 'em," Sully commented.

Robin highly doubted that, given where he had found the feather and from where those three imposters had come from. He kept his silence in honour of the fallen woman who had once ridden this mount.

"But if they're this far up the Northroad..." Stahl started.

"Then nowhere in Ylisse is safe," Frederick finished grimly, his lips tightening into a thin line as he met his charge's gaze. "We should remain wary."

Chrom nodded at his guard, then turned back to Sumia. "We can make time to wait for you."

Sumia shook her head with that same gentle expression. "Thank you, Captain, but I can manage. Every moment is precious when all of Ylisse is in danger."

Chrom was clearly reluctant, but nodded. "Right, then. Be safe, Sumia."

Robin and Lissa suppressed groans of annoyance, the latter being less successful.

Sumia's face hardened in determination, and she dutifully saluted him. "As you command, sir."

Virion brought her some medical and camping equipment she could use, just in case, and they continued the trek, Sumia waving them goodbye before she focused on the mount's injuries.

Once she was out of sight, Robin elbowed Chrom in the ribs.

"Idiot," he deadpanned.

"Huh?" Chrom exclaimed, rubbing his side. "What did I miss? Hey! Robin!"

* * *

B O N U S:

Robin: Hey, Chrom. Where's Frederick? I don't usually see him when we march.   
Chrom: Oh! He's...er...   
Frederick: I always scout the trail ahead, removing rocks and such. It wouldn't do to have someone twist an ankle mid-campaign, now would it? Not to mention how horrible it would be for milord to stumble on these reeds.   
Robin: (So that's why... I always thought it was just a fixation with pebble collecting...)   
Chrom: (This is just the tip of the iceberg, believe me...)   
Robin: (Ooh! Goody!)   
Frederick: Beg pardon, did you say something?   
Chrom: Er... Nothing important!   
Robin: You missed one!   
Chrom: (Dammit, Robin! Don't encourage him!)


	6. Warrior Realm

With their proximity to Regna Ferox came the snow. Only evergreen trees remained, jutting out of the landscape with the snow crystallised around the branches. The road was invisible beneath the white blanket, so deep that even Frederick had given up his...'scouting', the only indication of where the path even was being the split of open area cutting through the forest. They could not even make out the horizon at this point with the large fluffy flakes being blown sideways by the freezing wind that chilled even the hardiest Shepherds to their bones.

Robin felt like an icicle at this point, despite being practically cocooned in insulating clothing. Miriel had allowed him to use her Fire tome to create a small flame, hovering above his gloved palm and helping him stay warm. But even then, his feet sunk down halfway up to his calves into the snow, which had soaked through his boots, drenching his feet in icy water. He could have chopped off his toes and probably not felt a thing.

"Brrr! F-F-Frebberick! I'm f-f-freebing!" Lissa complained ahead of Robin, wrapped up warmly herself, but doubtlessly in a better condition than him.

Frederick chuckled lightly at the sight, and patted the armour plating of his mount. "Stand beside my horse, milady. She'll shelter you from the wind."

She immediately took him up on the offer, shuffling to his side, Robin joining her alongside the mediocre shelter. Chrom chuckled at the two of them, and they both shot him a glare in response, the boy's ending up weak as a new gust of icy wind blew in his face, making him look down again.

Despite having no feeling left in his reddened nose, Robin caught human scents ahead, and looked up in time to see a dark structure appearing through the snowy fog. It looked like a giant stone wall, stretching out as far as the eye could see in either direction. It was regularly marked with lookout towers, and just north of them was a steel-lined arched gate for travellers and merchants to pass through and continue on the road.

"So this is the fortress you mentioned?" Robin asked, clouds of warm air escaping his lips when he spoke and spiralling upwards.

"Yes, the Longfort," Chrom answered. "It stretches along the entire length of the Feroxi border."

Most Shepherds sighed in relief at the sight of it, but Frederick remained stoic. "The khans that rule Ferox have grown quite wary of foreigners. Still, don't mistake a lack of hospitality for open hostility. This simply calls for a bit of diplomacy," he reassured after his observation of the structure, facing his lord.

Chrom straightened his posture, just as they arrived before the steel gates of the Longfort. "Negotiation's not my strong suit, but I'll do my best." He turned to face the other Shepherds. "Remember, everyone--your actions here reflect back upon Ylisse."

Facing the fortress, he took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, just before Frederick directed his mount to his lord's side, raising his hand in a silencing gesture.

His brow furrowed. "Trouble in the wind, milord: the Feroxi guard are mobilising."

The prince's eyes widened, and he, too, looked up at the fortress. Soldiers were hurrying to and fro across the top on the Longfort, most of them armed andalready in position. "What, why?"

"Who can say?" Frederick responded. "But they look ready to let fly at a moment's notice. We'd best prepare for combat, just to be safe." He sighed. "Loath as I am to trust him, Robin might offer some valuable insight in this..."

"Indeed, he IS our tactician after all," the other retorted sharply, and met Robin's gaze.

The boy wasted no time in heading for the convoy, calling Stahl and Sully up to meet him. He handed them an iron sword and lance respectively, and they exchanged their already equipped weapons, so that one had an iron sword and a bronze lance, the other vice versa.

"Milord," Frederick quietly said to Chrom as the Shepherds each took a vulnerary from the convoy, making sure the tactician was preoccupied before he continued, "Stahl has noted that Robin appears uncomfortable during meals."

The prince frowned, shooting him a dangerous look. "And Lissa described him as introverted, emotional and honest."

The great knight sighed, something he had been doing a lot lately. "One cannot simply trust by appearances."

"I don't. I judge by actions."

"That event in Southtown could have been a ploy, milord. As much as I wish to grant him the same faith as you do, his story is too convenient as a cover, not to mention cliché."

Chrom felt a self-assured grin tugging at his lips. "But I think the one thing we've learned so far is that Robin is far from predictable."

Frederick lowered his head in defeat, preoccupying himself with studying the layout of the fortress. "Right, milord."

As soon as the man looked away, the smile dropped. As much as he hated it, Frederick was making some good points. Now that he had mentioned it, Chrom also realised how little Robin seemed to eat. He had figured--or more appropriately, hoped--that it just meant the slight boy didn't eat a huge amount. Unfortunately, they had no way of knowing what was going through Robin's head.

Ghouls were a rare topic, one far more common in Valm and Plegia, from what he understood. Although Ylisse was not new to ghouls, their existence was practically anonymous to the public, deemed by most as a myth akin to those of vampires and werewolves. Plegia, however, was notorious for its ghouls, the beasts causing murder and misery everywhere, from the poorest of villages to the richest of cities, including the capital.

And, with tensions escalating as they were, he would almost certainly need to go there, probably sooner rather than later, into ghoul-infested territory. He was not the only one who knew this, considering the recent uproar in the royal court. Needless to say, no one enjoyed the prospect.

"Chrom?"

The man jumped at the soft call, meeting a concerned argent gaze.

"A-ah, Robin..."

After a few more moments holding a curious stare, those eerie eyes--though Chrom could see why Lissa described them as pretty, he just couldn't bring himself to think that way at that moment--narrowed slightly in determination, and the prince could have never been more relieved that the spells mages studied did not include mind-reading.

"Everything's ready."

Chrom nodded assent, and Robin watched with his hands firmly clasped beneath his cloak as he stepped forward.

"Halt!" commanded a powerful female voice from above. "Who goes there?!"

Robin felt dread settle in his gut. This was the beginning of the exact scenario he had hoped would not occur, and he sensed Frederick tense up beside him as well. A woman in heavy, dark armour, sporting neatly undercut sand-blonde hair, stepped forward at the top of the Longfort, only a low stone wall separating her from a ten metre drop.

"In the name of House Ylisse, I seek audience with the khans!" Chrom announced, straining to keep his voice at an audible volume.

"Not another step, my bold lad! I've lancers at the ready!" she yelled back, pointing at the soldiers behind her.

"Hold, milady! We are not your enemy!" Frederick declared. "Exalt Emmeryn herself sent us to discuss matters of mutual interest."

"'Hold, milady', my arse!" she spat. "You face General Raimi, head of the Feroxi guard, and my only interest is keeping you out of my country, brigand!"

Robin froze. Head of the Feroxi guard? For someone like her to be at the border, when a far lower ranking soldier would suffice, there must have been great reason behind her accusation.

The prince, too, blanched at her words. "B-brigand? Now, see here--"

"You think you are the first 'Ylisseans' to try and cross our border?" she yelled down, one foot resting on the wall, hands on her hips. "I have the authority to fell such imposters where they stand."

"How dare you! You are in the presence of Prince Chrom, the exalt's own blood!" Frederick roared up at her, face reddening.

"Ha! Yes, indeed--and I'm the queen of Valm!" she proclaimed sarcastically, before adopting the stern scowl once again. "You do realise impersonating royalty is a capital offence, yes?" Her eyes, fixated on Chrom's blue hair, narrowed, and she hummed in thought, then straightened. "Then perhaps we should settle this the Feroxi way. You claim to be the prince of Ylisse? Then prove it on the battlefield!"

The man lowered his head briefly, gritting out, "Emmeryn won't like this at all..." He faced her again. "Please, good lady! If you'd just listen--"

"I've heard quite enough!" Raimi roared, raising her arm. "Attack!"

She brought it down in a chopping motion.

Lancers lined up along the wall of the Longfort, steel spears, more powerful than iron, gleaming dangerously in the meagre sunlight.

"Move, milord!" Frederick roared, spurring his horse into a gallop.

"CHROM!" Robin shrieked, just as the lances were thrown down, aimed at the prince. He had no chance of escaping them in time, and the boy could do nothing but watch in horror as the man turned so that his shoulder guard was facing the steel, but it could only cover his neck. Not his head. Not his heart.

They ran to meet the prince and somehow protect him from the lances, feeling all too far away. Robin felt energy building in his gut, wishing to all but throw himself in between Chrom and the steel if only to save his life.

A flash of white. The lances pierced the ground, along with singular white feather.

Robin's hasty footsteps trailed to a stop at the sight, and he looked up when he heard rhythmic beating. He saw a white winged horse, fully equipped in Ylissean armour, wings flapping and legs moving as though in full gallop despite being in midair, with Sumia and Chrom's scents wafting from the saddle.

Once the reality of the situation sunk in, all of the Shepherds let out a collective sigh of relief, with a few cheers mixed in, as they continued to watch them fly above, completely awestruck at the display of grace.

Robin heard Chrom gasp, and mutter, "Sumia..."

"Better hold on tight, Captain. Could get bumpy," Sumia spoke with uncharacteristic confidence above the howling wind, gaze trained on the sky ahead rather than looking at the passenger behind her.

"Er... Right," Chrom answered unsurely, still as stunned as the rest of the Shepherds below. Sumia giggled in response, turning to meet him with a gentle smile and a nod.

"You'll be fine."

A moment of silence stretched out between the two, during which the prince could only watch in amazement as Sumia directed the pegasus with practised ease, before he noticed the knights on the walls of the fortress raising their spears once more. He drew his sword.

"Sumia!" he alerted.

Her face hardened, and she nodded assuredly, spurring her mount to take a sharp turn back to the Shepherds. "Right!"

Robin awaited for them to land, and felt confused when they flew straight past the others. He scoured the area in front of the fortress' entrance, and spotted a few archers to the west.

Aerial units, such as pegasus knights and wyvern riders, were especially vulnerable to arrows and wind magic. The arrows easily reached up to pierce them and their wings, and wind magic threw them off of their flight path and could easily cut their feathers or stretched skin to shreds. Bringing Sumia and Chrom into the archers' shooting range would be the death of them. Not only would they be shot, but they would fall to the ground from higher up than the Longfort itself. The outcome needn't be mentioned.

Shaking the mental image out of his head, he resurveyed the Longfort through the snowy weather. To the each side of the main gate there were two smaller entrances, those where the few soldiers to the east and west of the main entrance had come outside from--wooden, but lined with steel. Not burnable and almost certainly locked and reinforced. In which case, how could those outside enter the building?

The soldiers had to have keys so that they could get inside, either in an emergency or simply during day to day patrols. If the Shepherds gained them, they would be able to reach the top of the fortress and take out General Raimi. With that in mind, he shouted out his orders.

"Virion, Frederick, Miriel, and Lissa, head to the east entrance and take out the soldiers there. Lissa stays at the rear. Sully, Stahl, Vaike and I will head west and take out the archers. Chrom, Sumia, air support!" he called up to them. Both raised their weapons in acknowledgement, Falchion and an iron lance, and he ordered to everyone, "When the soldiers facing your teams are down, search them for keys. And no killing!"

The groups split up. The pegasus knight and swordsman attacked the lancers that had attempted to kill the prince, the mount elegantly diving down to allow its passengers to stab at the men, before quickly galloping back into the air to dodge any lunges from their opponents.

Heading to the west alongside Vaike, who was wearing something to cover his torso for once, Robin started whispering the incantation of a Thunder spell under his breath. A few arrows were let loose before the Shepherds were too close for them to be affective. One grazed Robin's cheek, but didn't even break the skin. Stahl got hit in the arm, and Sully could only just dodge another in time.

Vaike let out a war cry and swung his iron axe down onto the first archer he could reach. Stahl and Sully circled the second with their steeds, cutting him down in unison with their bronze weapons, the man stabbing him from the front, and the woman slicing across his back from behind, but neither deep enough to cause irrecoverable wounds. When Robin focused on the third, he discovered that the soldier was already injured. He weakened the spell before knocking him out with the shock, the man's knees buckling before he collapsed into the snow.

"Clear!" he yelled to the lovebirds above. The pegasus immediately backed away from the fallen lancers and dived down to in front of the main gate. The prince got off the mount, thanking Sumia, then headed for Robin.

He bristled at a sudden feeling of a gaze at his back, just before he reached he boy. He halted and looked around, hand grasping Falchion's hilt. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, yet still feeling on edge, he muttered suspiciously, "Why do I feel like I'm being watched...?"

"...Sir! Right here, sir!" The hopeful voice was so out of the blue that Chrom drew his sword in alarm, looking around for the source of the seemingly bodiless voice.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" he barked out, ready for anything.

"I'm standing in plain sight, sir. Right he--"

Except that.

"BWAAAH!" Chrom screamed in surprise when the orange-marked suit of armour seemed to appear out of thin air right beside him, hurriedly backing away until he recognised the wearer. "Oh! I-is that you, Kellam?" The knight nodded. "When did you arrive?"

"...The same time as you. I've been with you all along," Kellam stated, tone sympathetic, before it took on a more uncertain lilt. "Er, I AM still a Shepherd, right? It's quite the honour, after all. I'd hate to loose it. Sometimes, I--"

"Of course, Kellam. Forgive me," Chrom interrupted, shaking his head apologetically. He sheathed his sword. "It's just you're so...quiet. I completely--"

"Quite alright, sir, quite alright." Kellam cut him off. "I've been told I'm easy to miss."

Nevertheless, Chrom still felt displeased with himself, and sighed in mild relief. "At least the Feroxi didn't find you."

"I've been calling you and waving my arms for several minutes... I don't think they've so much as glanced this way," Kellam affirmed in a lower tone.

"You almost sound disappointed."

Chrom truly pitied the man, on the few occasions when he remembered to, at least. Kellam was a great warrior, and one of the finest Shepherds alongside Stahl. And yet, despite being a knight in a very loud and very heavy oversized suit of armour, he remained unnoticed most of the time. So much so that most people even forgot he existed, until they were reminded of him. The event usually scared the living daylights out of them, much like in Chrom's case.

"Well, I just..." he hesitated, but still seemed relieved. "I'm glad you finally saw me. Just try to keep an eye out from now on? Also, could you perhaps let Robin know I'm on his team? He's already met me so you don't need to worry about introductions. He just doesn't seem to have noticed me here, today." Chrom nodded as the two completed the way to the tactician, who seemed deeply lost in thought.

He arrived in time to hear Robin hum pensively, mumbling words under his breath that sounded like generic gibberish to the prince, some vowels and a few consonants completely unknown to the man, brows furrowed as he observed Sully administrating about a third of the liquid in her vial of vulnerary onto Stahl's wound, the male wincing at the stinging sensation of the wound being disinfected and stitching itself back together.

"What is it, Robin?" Chrom asked, startling the amnesiac out of his trance-like state and odd mumbling. The man was somewhat sure that it hadn't been Plegian, having heard that language before, but he had no way of being certain.

The boy hesitated, attempting to regain a minimal amount of composure. "I've been thinking about how you rode with Sumia earlier..." He glanced between her and the prince again, then Stahl and Sully. "Do our units have to fight one-on-one?"

Chrom's brows creased as he debated the idea. "Are you suggesting we pair up? That's an interesting thought..." He chuckled dryly, a smile taking over his features as he glanced at the pegasus knight, then quickly looked away bashfully. His cheeks definitely weren't that red because of the cold, Robin mused exasperatedly. "I admit, I'd resemble a royal pincushion right now if it weren't for Sumia and her mount."

The boy internally winced at that last statement. He would have been able to easily protect Chrom, as the steel spears wouldn't have harmed him at all--how he knew that he no longer debated. But what of the aftermath? Robin didn't know what he was, but a creature that could survive only on human flesh would not easily be accepted if known of. Any sane person would have kill something like that on the spot. His reveal would have also reflected back on all of Ylisse and sullied its name, if the Feroxi didn't cut them down first. He shuddered. No, he should have just considered everyone, especially Chrom, extremely lucky that Sumia had been there at the right moment to save him.

He answered Chrom as if that mental debate had never occurred.

"Exactly. By pairing up, units could lend each other added offence and defence... It might also allow quicker soldiers to ferry slower units great distances..." he murmured, not entirely sure if he had actually said every word that was running through his mind, too lost in it himself to bother either way. He felt a sudden surge of giddiness at the new idea, and tried his very hardest to calm the grin twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Yes... Yes! I'm sure of it. This opens up all sorts of strategic possibilities! We should try it whenever the opportunity presents itself."

The swordsman cocked a brow at the expression, then chuckled at him.

"How about now?" he suggested, then took on a more serious mien. "The fort is open once you get up the stairs behind that door. Sumia and I saw three to four soldiers at the top of either stairwell, and General Raimi is at the centre of the roof." He was about to walk off, but turned around when he seemed to remember something. "Oh, and Kellam has joined your group...somewhere."

Kellam... Robin repeated the name a few times in his mind. Where had he heard it before?

Black eye. Hunger. Temptation, mania-- Oh.

His smile turned from forcefully suppressed to just forced. "Alright, Chrom. For now, have Virion and Miriel back each other up and Frederick shelter Lissa. You stay with Sumia," Robin ordered, and they each rejoined their teams after a brief nod in farewell.

"We've got the key, Robin!" Stahl called out to him whilst Sully fumbled with the lock, the sound of keys jingling emanating from her, most likely, still numb fingers.

Robin nodded as the lock clicked, but stopped her from opening the gate by placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I want you and Stahl to pair up and do the most of the fighting." He explained before turning to the others of his group. "Vaike, you and I will move side by side and Kellam," he briefly looked around and didn't catch sight of him, but assumed he was listening. "I want you to be the first to move up the stairs. I highly doubt that there are any mages up there, and you're basically an iron wall." The knight had held out by himself well so far, and he could surely hold out longer.

At his signal, he and Vaike shoved the heavy doors open. They both yelped in surprise when Kellam reappeared to their senses as he brushed past him, swiftly followed by Sully and Stahl directing their horses up the frozen stone steps. When they had all reached the top they were met with a fallen and bloody, but nevertheless alive, Feroxi axeman, courtesy of Kellam, and a renewed blast of freezing cold at the higher winds, unrestrained by the trees of the evergreen forest. At least the snow has stopped falling.

The other group was already in full battle and had brought the soldiers' attention to their side. Chrom and Sumia fought gracefully in complete synchronisation atop her pegasus, Frederick cut down anyone who dared get too close to Lissa, who was working her magic on the first pair, and Virion and Miriel were picking off anyone who attempted to flank the others. It filled Robin with great relief to sense all the enemy soldiers' heartbeats where normal, that they were all still alive.

"It's Vaike time!" yelled the man once at the top of the Longfort. He swung his axe around his own axis, the circular motion gaining in velocity and striking down any Feroxi soldier that got to close.

As he scrutinised the battlefield again and sent Sully and Stahl to flank the Feroxi troops, Robin noted Miriel fixating her gaze on Vaike's movements. He swept his gaze over the entire Ylissean group after releasing another Thunder spell, and stilled when he spotted something that made his blood run cold. An axe that, rather than a sharp blade, had a heavy stone attached to the end of the haft that made it more closely resemble a mallet.

Hammers were extremely dangerous to heavily armoured units. On any other soldier, it would only cause a nasty bruise, or broken bone, because of the blunt impact and lack of sharpness. But with enough force behind it, which the muscular wielder, able to rest the weapon on his shoulder, certainly seemed to possess, it could crush armour as if it were made of dry leaves, the metal shards then cutting into the victim's muscle and horribly worsening the already heavily damaged flesh. It was messy business and, for the otherwise almighty Frederick, who the Feroxi soldier had his sights upon, almost certainly fatal.

After quickly reassuring himself that his party would be alright, Robin sprinted towards the other group, yelling the great knight's name in an effort to alert him to the imminent threat. But Frederick couldn't hear him over the clanging of metal and his own concentration as he protected Lissa from another axeman. Robin knew he couldn't make it in time at this rate, feeling as helpless as earlier, when the lancers had almost impaled Chrom.

But this time, Sumia would not be able to dive to the rescue, and nobody else was aware of much other than their own opponents.

Gritting his teeth, the chilling air he was gasping for burning his throat, Robin checked if there were any onlookers, but nobody was paying attention to him. He pushed himself harder, the energy he had gained from the (perverse) meal he had eaten. He allowed himself to gain speed from his inhuman reserves, not enough that would exceed expectations, given that his body was hidden beneath layers of clothing, but enough to become considerable faster.

The Feroxi axeman was about to break into a sprint himself, hammer raised, when Robin slammed his Thunder tome across his face, the satisfying, bony crack of a dislocated jaw accompanying it. He jumped back when the axeman swung his axe in a beheading strike, the man groaning painfully with a hand holding his awkwardly misplaced jaw still.

Robin quickly slipped his tome into his cloak and unsheathed his bronze sword, holding it straight in front of him, legs slightly apart. It may have been a lower ranked material, but it bore an advantage over axes. With that in mind, he swung it horizontally, attempting to strike the Feroxi's chest, but the larger man easily parried it with a downwards strike, the sword clanging against the stone flooring.

Robin hastily backed away, blinking rapidly and shaking his head to rid himself of the dizzying ringing in his more sensitive ears. His body reacted on its own when he parried another strike, from an iron axe this time, stumbling only because of his mild disorientation.

All things considered--superior strength, faster reflexes, sharper senses--, Robin was hardly trying.

When the echoes finally faded from his hearing and he continued exchanging blows with the Feroxi axeman, he heard the galloping and clanking of an armoured steed, and realised with a sense of dread that Frederick was approaching to help the seemingly overpowered boy.

Robin hurried out the blade lock he had gotten himself into and yelled in the great knight's direction, "Stay back! He has a hammer!"

He saw the man's eyes widen subtly and him slow his horse to a halt. Satisfied, the tactician swiftly sheathed his sword and grabbed his tome from inside the folds of his cloak, moving in between the Feroxi and the great knight, already mumbling the spell. He narrowly sidestepped a downwards chop that would have otherwise left him with a missing arm, before stepping back and throwing a ball of lightning at his opponent. The soldier screamed, limbs spasming from the electric current running through his body, until he collapsed onto the icy stone, unconscious.

Robin looked to Frederick. The great knight, as always, had a deep bundle of furrows between his brows, eyes sharply flicking between the tactician and the knocked out Feroxi's hammer, then resting pensively on the former.

"I thank you, Robin," he stated simply, bowing his head lightly.

Robin didn't know what face he was making, but judging by Lissa's giggle after she had checked him for any injuries, it must have been a bright one.

He faced westwards and called to a member of his team, "Vaike! Got something for you!"

"Huh?! Whatcha say?!"

Ah, he forgot. The tactician's hearing was much sharper than the humans'. Instead, Robin arched his arm to rally Vaike over. Once the axeman arrived, the boy handed him the hammer of the fallen soldier. A broad grin spread across Teach's face as he weighed it in his hands and delivered a few practice swings with the exceptionally heavy weapon.

They heard galloping, and Sumia's pegasus trotted to a halt after landing beside them, Chrom descending from the saddle. Robin looked at the pristine creature, only to notice a feather tucked behind its ear.

He cocked a brow at the young woman. "Is this the same one as we met on the road?"

Sumia giggled somewhat bashfully at his disbelief, and scratched it behind the ears with a fond smile. "Oh, she's a sweetheart, isn't she? ...Once you really get to know her, at least."

"If you say so," Robin said simply, for lack of a better response. Before the conversation could continue, however, they were interrupted by the clanking of heavy metal--which was just as painful to Robin as his sword slamming against stone--fast approaching them. They turned to see General Raimi nearing them, javelin, a throwing lance, at the ready.

"Let our battle sound the truth of your words!" she challenged, lance pointed directly at Chrom.

The man met Robin's eye. "Frederick and I can handle this."

Robin, Lissa, Vaike and Sumia nodded in response, backing away from the three who were about to engage in combat. Frederick shifted on his saddle and readjusted his grip on his lance, and Chrom unsheathed his secondary sword, a rapier.

Rapiers, because of the slim blade, could penetrate through gaps in the heavy armour, rendering it useless in a similar, but far less brutal, fashion to the hammer.

Chrom took the first lunge, aiming for the underside of her pauldron, with Frederick soon following up with his silver lance. The lord left a deep gash in her left shoulder, and Frederick the other, the veteran knight swiftly parrying a strike of her javelin aimed at his charge.

Chrom dodged another stab by rolling to the side, swiftly exchanging swords and hamstringing her with Falchion. An agonised grunt escaped through her gritted teeth as she collapsed onto one knee, grasping her lance for support. She hissed in pain as she pushed herself back up onto her feet, leaning heavily on her uninjured right leg.

She was met with a broad silver spear tip and the holy blade, both laced with a thin layer of crimson, at her throat. She eyed Chrom and Frederick warily, tilting her head back and exposing more of her neck.

"Well? Won't you finish it?" she spat at them. They shared a look, before simultaneously lowering the blades.

"We have no reason to kill your men or take your life, General Raimi," Chrom stated, and turned to bare his right shoulder at her. "All we seek is an audience with the khan for peaceful negotiations."

Her eyes widened at the sight of the mark darkening his skin. "The Brand of the Exalt..." she whispered, collapsing onto her knees once again. "So your claims were...true..."

She sighed in resignation, tossing her weapon aside. "All troops! Retreat and recuperate. Our opponents have proven themselves to be the guards of the Ylissean prince, Lord Chrom!"

Lissa immediately stepped forth to heal the woman's injuries and splint her leg. Once treated, Raimi stood up properly and bowed to the prince. The Shepherds also received treatment from Lissa and the Longfort's clergymen, after their own men had been treated. Stahl's wound was sealed properly, Sumia got a cut on her leg fixed and Vaike a gash across his shoulder sorted out. Other than that, there was only the occasional bruising among the Ylissean party.

"A thousand apologies, Prince Chrom." After putting the worries of another priest to rest, Robin diverted his attention back to Raimi, who spoke sincerely, "I truly took you for brigand impostors. But no frauds could ever wage a battle such as you just have! I will send word of your arrival to the capital and escort you there personally."

"That would be most appreciated, thank you," Chrom answered with a respectful nod. After another bow, she entered the fortress through a nearby entrance, her armour clanking loudly with every step. Robin could only continue staring at where she disappeared.

"Amazing! Her whole demeanour changed," he noted. Before, Raimi had been aggressive and uncouth to them as they named their identity and business, yet just then she had been formal and had listened to what they had had to say.

"In Ferox, strength speaks louder than words," Frederick informed, and sighed. "I should have known better than to overestimate the value of diplomacy here..."

Robin hummed in agreement, just as Lissa joined them with the rest of the Shepherds ready to leave.

"So can we get going, Chrom?" she asked, rubbing her shoulders to warm up. Now that the adrenaline rush had faded, Robin started feeling the cold nipping at his skin again, like persistent needles growing in number, and shuddered as well.

"Yes, it's not getting any warmer," Chrom agreed.

With that, the Shepherds passed through the Longfort and were gathered inside two carriages to be taken the rest of the way to the capital. To keep things simple, they divided themselves up by staying with the same teams they had fought with earlier, with the exception of Sumia, who sat opposite Robin in the second carriage.

As nice as it was to no longer need to march, the amnesiac was left freezing more than ever by sitting still. He pulled his knees up to his chest and tightened the fur coat around him, but continued shivering. He wondered how the Feroxi could possibly live through this on a daily basis, and figured that after generations living up in the north of Ylisse, they must have adapted and discovered some methods.

He debated leaning up against someone, and felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment at the idea alone, though he wasn't quite certain why. He tried to convince himself that no, he did not need to do it, but knew he was only lying to himself as he thought that. He felt like biting his fingers just to get some form of feeling back in the frozen digits, even if it was pain. He didn't care, so long as they no longer needed to feel like someone else's when he ran them across his cheek. Eventually, he gave into temptation and pressed himself against Vaike's side, breathing a shaky sigh of relief at the warmth seeping through to him.

The older man chuckled. "No need to be shy!"

That comment only made Robin whine and squirm even more, but he settled when Vaike wrapped an arm around him, deciding to hide his burning face in his arms wrapped around his knees.

"So, how is Virion treating his 'dear sweet bird', Sully?" Stahl asked after a while, teasingly imitating the archer's accent with exaggerated arm movements.

"Hah! I think he learned his lesson back at the garrison!" She guffawed, and Vaike broke into hysterics as he remembered the aristocratic words used, but Stahl drew a blank at what she said. Sumia told him about the incident regarding Robin's heritage and the brief discussion about Virion's fashion sense, much of it a little exaggerated, and laughter bubbled from the carriage at end of the tale.

The members of the first carriage could hear the merry sound above the howling wind and their own conversations. Lissa was snuggled up against her brother for warmth, who had his arms wrapped around her. She was quite disappointed that it wasn't as warm as she had hoped it would be, and was even less pleased with the constant watch of her ever-stern guardian.

"H-hey, F-Frederick?" Chrom's grip on her tightened as she spoke through chattering teeth.

The great knight straightened. "Yes, milady?"

"Why didn't Robin let you help him?"

He remained silent for a moment, then answered levelly, "The axe his opponent carried could have severely wounded me, but not Robin any more than a usual weapon." A pause. "He defended me."

"Oh? Am I hearing this right?" Chrom half-asked with a small, almost hopeful smile. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"Not quite, milord. I'll still be keeping an eye on him. However..." He pondered how to continue for a moment. "Let's just say, 'innocent until proven guilty', for now."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look forward to some nice plot thickening and implications for the future in the next chapter!
> 
> Also IMPORTANT! If anyone has a good grasp on kanji, please PM me. Beware that it could involve some very mild spoilers for the near future of this fic and that it would be best to know at least a little about the second half of the original Tokyo Ghoul (aka, what was adapted as Root A). I just want to make sure I can do Sui Ishida's work justice! Readers of the original version probably realise what I'm talking about here.
> 
> Damn, TG:re Chapter 83... Just damn. Bombshells and heartbreak. This has Ishida written all over it.
> 
> And also, I have indeed lost Freddy to that hammer guy before. I've paid very close attention to him ever since.


	7. Claws and Twin Swords

Chrom, Robin, Frederick and Lissa were led into the Feroxi throne room by Raimi. Robin had been pleasantly surprised by the change in temperature when they entered Castle Ferox, but there was still a chill in the air, even inside. Unlike Ylisstol, which gave off an open feeling, walls lined with gold and marble, and the floors hidden by red carpets, the Feroxi stronghold had violet carpets, stone walls and felt as cold as the weather outside. Needless to say, appearances mattered little to these people, especially when they were in the middle of the snow-covered land. They focused more on practicality, and the castle was doubtlessly well-fortified.

They came to a halt just in front of the dais that led to the rather plain, unimpressive throne. Then again, Exalt Emmeryn's was only slightly larger and a little more extravagant, and he hadn't seen her sit upon it. Two large statues of swords stuck in their plinths were placed on each side of the dias. Above the Feroxi throne hung a violet banner, upon which was an emblem in a slightly lighter shade resembling the head of a wolf. It's neck was diagonally cut off, and underneath it was a mirrored version of the same silhouette. The emblem of Regna Ferox.

General Raimi came to a halt just before reaching the first step upwards to the throne, turned and bowed to the lord. "Prince Chrom, please wait here while I summon the khan."

"Of course," Chrom answered curtly. She took her leave through a door to the far left of where they stood, the clanking of her armour echoing in the dark throne room.

"The khan is away?" Robin asked the prince once she was gone. Most of the world's politics were still beyond him. Now that he thought about it, he only knew a fraction about the world in general. He didn't even know what he himself was. It felt like the word was lodged somewhere in his mind, unable to reach his tongue, as if there was a dam holding everything back. It was the same phenomenon he had experienced with his tactical knowledge. He figured that general knowledge and whatever had come from studies and training, which included a human's capabilities compared to his own, strategy, sorcery and swordsmanship, was what had stuck with him beyond his memory loss.

"Out training, I'd wager," Chrom interrupted his thoughts. "The khans of Ferox prefer battle to politics. Or rather, battle IS their politics."

Chrom piqued Robin's interest with that statement. One normally tries to sort things with words. Of course, unfortunate circumstances could eventually lead to bloodshed, if disagreements continued, and some would to make their people choose the sword or the knee, but they were frowned upon. So how come Regna Ferox was a respected ally of Ylisse?

He figured being a nation of battle-ready warriors did not necessarily mean they lacked in honour and nobility. How else would they earn Ylisse's respect?

"A warrior ruler, eh?" Robin grinned playfully. If the Feroxi politics revolved around strength, the khan must have been the strongest of them all. "I can picture him now: a giant of a man of unparalleled thew, his broad chest covered in hair..." he chuckled lightly at the imagination.

"Am I now?" asked a confident female voice. "Please, do go on!"

"Wh-what?" Robin stammered, looking to the dais.

A middle-aged woman with deep caramel skin, flaxen hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, walked down the steps to them. She was dressed in scarlet and silver armour, a crimson guard protecting her entire arm and neck, her armoured boots clicking with every step. She held herself imposingly, a posture that suggested she was a war veteran. Her strong build, exposed thighs between her black form-fitting skirt and armoured boots, as well as her bare shoulders displaying lean muscle, left little room for doubt. She wasn't as intimidating as the image Robin had conjured up for someone of her station, ageing well thanks to her doubtlessly fit youth, but nonetheless befitting of her renowned title.

"You're the--?! Er, that is to say... The khan, I presume?" Chrom was clearly attempting to calm himself in her presence, probably having expected someone similar to what Robin had suggested. To say they were surprised was an understatement.

"One of them, yes--the East-Khan. My name is Flavia." Her voice was strong and deep. She only acknowledged Chrom's surprise with a knowing smirk, and continued, "I apologise for the troubles at the border, Prince Chrom. You are welcome in Regna Ferox."

"Thank you, but I'm confident we can put that misunderstanding behind us," Chrom stated, before worry clouded his expression. "Is it true bandits posing as Ylisseans have been ransacking your border villages?"

"Yes. Those Plegian dogs! We found documents proving as much on the corpse of one of their captains." Flavia spat, arms crossed, making Robin flinch and try to hide himself within the depths of the fur cloak he still wore. He wished he still had his normal coat on, but knew such a selfish desire would only rouse suspicions. He had been certain of that even before Khan Flavia's reaction to the Plegian threat.

Chrom scowled deeply, fists clenched. "Damn them!" he growled. He quickly realised his mistake, apologetic gaze briefly flicking to Robin, before he faced the East-Khan again. "I... Forgive me, Your Grace. That was...indelicately put."

Flavia released a deep, throaty laugh. "Ha! Damn them and damn delicacy! Here in Ferox, we appreciate plain speech."

"In that case, you should have word with your damn border guards..." Chrom cursed without missing a beat.

The East-Khan chuckled at the display. "Now that's Feroxi diplomacy! Yes, I like you already!" she commented fondly. Her expression, however, darkened after that. "I know why you have come, Prince. But regrettably, I cannot provide any Feroxi troops for Ylisse."

"What?! Why not?!" Lissa asked the older woman.

She shook her head apologetically. "I lack the authority."

"Forgive me, but I don't understand. Aren't you the khan?" Chrom questioned, brow raised.

"As I said, I am ONE of the khans." She elaborated, "In Ferox, the khans of east and west hold a tournament every few years. The victor acquires total sovereignty over both kingdoms. And that means they have the final say when it comes to forging alliances." She smiled bitterly. "The West-Khan won the last tournament, you see, and so..."

"So we are to receive no aid at all?" Chrom asked her, and she laughed.

"Not if you always give up so easily! The next tournament is nigh, you see, and I am in need of a champion."

"What does that have to do with us?" Chrom asked with interest.

"The captain of my border guard informs me your Shepherds are quite capable. Perhaps one of you would consider representing the East in the upcoming tournament? If you win and I become the ruling khan, I will grant your alliance," she explained.

"I would have assumed Ylisseans had no place in such Feroxi traditions," Chrom said, unsure of what to make of the offer.

Flavia chuckled heartily. "On the contrary! The khans themselves do not fight--they choose champions to represent them. Otherwise our land would be rife with blood feuds and dead khans! We don't involve comrades or kin for the same reason. Over time, it was decided the tournament should be fought by outsiders." She paused. "Although the outsiders have never included foreign royalty. ...That I know of! Ha!" She turned serious again. "Regardless, it is your choice to make."

Chrom thought it over for a moment, before he sighed, "There is no choice, East-Khan. My people are desperate. We face not only Plegia's constant attacks, but now the added threat of the Risen. With war at our borders, we have to eliminate the threats we have already if we don't want to instigate anything, not to mention the reputation of Plegian...wildlife," he eventually added. Robin noticed Frederick's gaze briefly flick to him, then to the prince, and the great knight nodded stiffly. "If fighting for you is the quickest way to an alliance, then we will take up our steel," he concluded with a confident gaze, but that wasn't what caught Robin's attention.

What could be a greater threat than the Risen? They were mindless beasts that relentlessly attacked anything that moved. And what could be more dangerous than an army, soldiers trained to kill through years of hard labour? Not to mention the odd pause before Chrom had said 'wildlife'. What word had he replaced? He thought of Frederick's suspicious gaze as the prince had said that, and felt cold dread settle in his stomach.

"Ha ha! Oh, I like you, Prince Chrom. I do hope the one you chose to fight wins the tournament! But be wary! I hear an equally able swordsman champions the West-Khan." She told them sternly.

"He shall be defeated, for Ylisse's sake."

Flavia chuckled at the confidence in Chrom's words. "Well spoken again--I look forward to seeing if you're equally skilled with a blade!"

She was about to turn away from the Shepherds with a small wave, when Chrom stopped her. "Do you have permission to grant us documents, at least?"

She faced him again, cocking a brow. "...I do. Was there something you had in mind?"

Chrom nodded grimly, and mouthed a single-syllabled word to her. Her own expression darkened, and she answered carefully, "I shall have all we know delivered to your room, Prince Chrom."

"Thank you," sighed the prince, his tense posture relaxing. He bowed to her. "By your leave."

The khan nodded as she turned away, noticeably stiffer than before, and the Shepherds present left the throne room and headed to their dorms. The other members had already moved to their shared guest rooms, with the exception of Robin, who was alone in a two-bed suite. Chrom and Lissa, being royalty, also had their own private quarters. Otherwise, the Shepherds had divided themselves up based on how they were normally organised.

However, being in a room by himself gave Robin an opportunity. Chrom was clearly keeping something from him--his attempts at subtlety were weak at best--, and as tactician of the Shepherds, second in command besides Frederick, he figured he ought to know. Perhaps he would have if not for his amnesia, anyway. If they were keeping something about Plegia, which they had accused as his ethnicity, that could be a valuable factor towards his future strategising, he had every right and obligation to know.

Not to mention the ever-present dread of them finding out.

Just as the prince was about to turn left and up a staircase to his quarters, Robin caught his sleeve. The man sent him a questioning look, Frederick and Lissa halting as well.

"I wish to speak with you," Robin said to him, briefly eyeing the great knight. "Privately."

A look of dread equal to how Robin felt flashed across the prince's face, but he quickly schooled his expression. His brows lowered in thought, and he turned to Frederick and Lissa. "Go ahead, I'll see you later."

The oldest of them opened his mouth to object, but shut it and gave a reluctant nod. Lissa seemed perfectly happy with the arrangement, and excused herself from them to meet up with Sumia.

Saying goodbye to Frederick, Chrom trailed behind Robin as the younger one lead him to his quarters. The more the tactician thought about how to breach the subject, the more annoyed at the secrecy he found himself becoming. What of it? Why hide something from the one only a rank below Chrom, especially something this important? Why potentially hide the fact that they knew?

By the time they reached his room and Robin closed the door a little too loudly, he was thoroughly pissed off. Chrom seemed to notice the change in atmosphere, and was clearly nervous at seeing Robin this irate for the first time. Or did that have to do with the secret, given Frederick's glance at him when the word 'wildlife' had fallen?

"Uh... So..." Chrom stuttered, a hand reaching up to scratch his nape as he avoided Robin's gaze. "What's got you so...riled up?"

And he didn't even get how obvious it was?

"What do you think?!" Robin growled out, fists clenching and unclenching rapidly as he let his anger show.

"U-um..." The prince's eyes widened at the outburst, and his gaze moved anywhere but Robin. "You think I shouldn't have accepted Khan Flavia's proposal...?" he said more like a question.

An indignant huff escaped the tactician. "Gods, you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about!" Although, who would be the East-Khans champion was still something to be discussed.

Chrom tensed. So he did. He was just dancing around the subject, despite the fact that it was inevitable that he would need to explain. Hell, Robin was not going to let him out of that room until he revealed it. A small voice at the back of his mind told him he was overreacting. He ignored it, but his annoyance only grew.

"U-um... I don't?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you?" Robin said, tone flat. He realised what he was doing; getting angry and even yelling at the crown prince. However, Chrom had always insisted on being treated as an equal, so there he had it. "What could be a greater threat than the Risen and trained soldiers? What did you mean by 'wildlife'?"

Worry clouded Chrom's expression, and he stiffened, arms crossed with his head lowered. They stayed silent for probably a full minute after Chrom's only form of escape--diversion of the conversation--had been rendered completely void. It had been from the start, anyway, and they had both known that.

"I was hoping you wouldn't notice..." the prince said softly, shoulders slumping.

Robin, after having counted to ten numerous times in his head throughout the entire time there, finally found himself calming down at the sight. Rather, the fear that had been growing throughout the discussion was starting to flow through his body. His voice was just as quiet when he spoke. "I'm a tactician, Chrom. It's my job to know what's going on."

Chrom sighed. "I suppose that's true..." After gathering himself, he met the tactician with a stern look. "I'm warning you, though. This is one of the truths of this world I was hoping you would remain oblivious to...for your own good, just like Lissa. But, if you insist..."

"I do," Robin stated. After what the prince had just said, he could only hope his voice sounded more confident than he felt.

The older man seemed to gather himself, and took a small breath before he began slowly, "...There are creatures that are greatly feared in our world. They are commonly known as the 'Spawn of Grima', but their real name is 'ghouls'. They feed on...human flesh."

Robin's breath hitched, and he knew the other had noticed. He sent the tactician a questioning look, but the younger of the two nodded for him to continue.

He did so reluctantly. "They are far stronger than the average human, but look exactly like a normal person. We cannot tell them apart from us until it's too late. Ghouls are mankind's only natural enemy. Fighting one would be suicide."

Robin felt himself begin to tremble and begin to sweat. Chrom was speaking in such a condescending tone about them, one that let him clearly know that the older male did not consider ghouls anything like humans. He spoke as though they were below humans in all but power. As though they were animals. He had called them exactly that; wildlife. They were truly nothing but beasts to him, were they?

Robin had to ask. He had to know, for his own sake. "C-can't they just eat food...like normal people?" he asked, voice small with apprehension, and a flicker of hope.

Chrom looked at him sympathetically, and, to Robin's horror, shook his head. The last flicker of hope died, crushed beneath a hand of cold steel. "No, they cannot. It makes them sick and doesn't provide any nutrition for them."

"And...what do you think of them?" He felt as though he already knew the answer, but to think that the one who saved him could hate him... He at least needed some peace of mind.

Chrom's brows furrowed, and he actually seemed to debate the answer, before he started carefully, "Honestly, I don't really know. I just know that they are humanity's enemy. They were created by Grima, after all. They devour us." He paused, and sighed wearily. "But Emm keeps insisting that they're victims of their own appetite, and tries to sympathise with them. But what can we do, willingly offer ourselves up as food?" he asked, arms open and apart at the futility.

Robin didn't reply, thoughts running wild at the implications Chrom had just explained. Eventually, the prince somewhat broke him out of his musings.

"Does that answer your question?"

Robin finally looked up. His mind felt numb. "Hmm?" Realising that a question had been asked, he stuttered for an answer. "A-ah! Yeah..."

Chrom's brows lowered, a little sadly, and, as he walked past the tactician and back to the doorway, he gave the smaller male's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Sorry to throw all this knowledge at you, but... I suppose it is only right that you know."

The boy only hummed vaguely in acknowledgement. Another squeeze, before Chrom's hand left his shoulder. He didn't turn to see the prince out, and heard the door squeak as it opened, followed by Chrom saying something along the lines of 'giving you some time', and then click shut.

Robin's knees buckled, and pain flared up his legs when they hit the floor. He hardly felt it.

Ghoul. The word itself was a translation from another language, in which it meant 'eater species'. That was what he was. He was a ghoul. A man-eater. He could eat nothing but human flesh, and was the 'spawn', a descendant, of the Fell Dragon Grima.

Oddly, once the initial shock had passed, he realised just how calm he was about the revelation. The sudden exhaustion stemmed more from him keeping himself from bursting into tears--from relief or from sorrow, he had no clue. Even so, no matter how hard he tried to stop them, he realised his sight was swimming with the saltwater flowing down his cheeks, and his throat ached from the sobs clawing their way out.

He remembered when he had first taken a life, back in Southtown. That had struck deep, as though he had been the one stabbed instead. And yet, when he had killed those Plegian spies, he had felt no such remorse until later, when he had thought too deeply into who those men could have been. Perhaps the only difference between the two events was his hunger. It had been bearable, but ever-present, the first time. The second, however, it had been at the very forefront of his mind, impossible to ignore. That, and he had gained experience since the first he could remember, hardened.

He remembered his almost-attack on the poor knight in the Shepherds' Garrison. His sense of reason had been practically nonexistent, his logic distorted, devoured and otherwise heavily manipulated by the agonising hunger he had felt.

Eating had been his only relief.

And in the end, he had been a ghoul his entire life. His amnesia had changed nothing but his perspective.

He shakily stood back up from the floor, wiping the tears from his eyes, and took in the room. It was small, the entrance behind him. Two rather small beds were beside him, covered in multiple thick blankets. He was facing the only window in the room, and in the right corner, halving the distance from the window to the bathroom door, was a full body mirror.

He took hasty strides up to it, and pulled the curtains shut, cloaking the room in darkness, before he faced his reflection.

He remembered the feeling of his left eye changing back in Ylisstol and when he had eaten the Plegian. He closed his eyes and focused on that feeling, and his muscles around the eyeball tensed, a crackling resounding from it. When he opened his eyes and looked at his reflection again, the kakugan had formed in his left eye.

No, wait. It was only 'half' a kakugan. Normally, both eyes would change colour. How come his was different?

He had no way of knowing, so he pushed the question aside. He briskly turned around and locked the door, turning the key twice just to be safe and leaving it in the lock so no one could peep through. He then returned to the mirror, after double-checking the curtains and listening for anyone in the corridor, then took off his cloak, undid his belts, and untucked his shirt, letting them all fall to the floor.

What had that other sensation that night been? He turned his back to the mirror and tilted his head around to see as much as he could, then focused hard on the place along his back that had stirred every time he had felt the hunger.

He allowed his senses to take in every detail as two bulges stretched the skin at his waist, one on each side of his spine. He felt the stinging, painful sensation of the skin at the peaks of the pointed lumps tearing with a sickening, bloody squelch, and two crimson, coarsely scaled tentacles slithered out of his back and presented themselves to him, buzzing electrically with every movement. They had around the same width as his skinny thighs, and their length was almost thrice that of his body, but the pliable muscle would easily allow them to stretch longer than that. He released his next two from the kakuhou, the sac-like organ that stored the appendages, and they weaved their way out of his body just above the first two.

It was a kagune, an appendage of blood-red muscle that flowed like water, yet could become as hard as teeth, therefore often referred to as 'liquid muscle'. No ordinary weapons could damage it, but only other claws, as it may as well have been woven with steel wire. His kagune was of the rinkaku type.

Rinkaku generally looked like coarsely scaled tentacles sprouting from the waist, so the appearance of Robin's was quite plain. They excelled in brute strength unmatched by other types, but the kagune themselves were weakly bound and soft compared to others. It made them more fragile, and easier to tear apart. However, because of this weak bondage, the rinkaku user had one last asset--high regeneration. All ghouls could heal injuries significantly faster than humans--less so if the wounds were inflicted by kagune, especially the type they were weak to--and could even grow back entire limbs if need be. A rinkaku user, however, had an even more powerful healing rate than any other type.

Although, Robin couldn't think of their names or assets yet. He figured they would come back to him in due time, or at least when he saw the three other kagune types. For the moment, he was perfectly happy just flexing the muscle and performing complicated movements with the new set of limbs, wrapping them around the bedposts, stroking them with his hands. How to use them was something that had to be learned, he noted, as he struggled to perform slightly more intricate tasks. He suddenly had double the amount of limbs, after all. Controlling them all at once had to have been quite a feat.

But once mastered, the feeling of wielding such a deadly weapon was nothing short of exhilarating.

* * *

The arena was filled with the loud cheers of the eager crowd awaiting the fight. It was near defeating to Robin, especially with Lissa sitting right beside him. All the scents conflicted and mingled, making it hard to discern one from the other, and leaving him a little nervous at being unable to use what, unlike with humans, was one of his primary senses. The Shepherds shared Khan Flavia's royal booth on the eastern side of the arena, opposite that of the West-Khan. The khans were the only ones present who had actual chairs. Everyone else, including the Shepherds, sat on the stone benches.

Robin looked at all of the Ylissean party. The most obvious choice for the fight would have been Frederick. However, if the opponent had a hammer or magic, though less likely, it would have been a complete failure. He did not know the opponent or what their arsenal would be, and he therefore did not want to send in someone who would have a mount or armour, a weakness to certain weapons such as hammers and Beastslayers. That meant not Sully, Stahl, Sumia, Kellam or Frederick.

Virion or Miriel would fight best at a distance. If the opponent got near them, the archer would be defenceless and the mage would fall in an instant to physical weapons. So, despite them both being precise and having good aim, he did not want to risk it against a possibly fast challenger.

Lissa was obviously not an option, since she didn't even know how to fight, and, despite all the boasting, Chrom was faster and more resilient to magical attacks than Vaike.

As a balanced fighter with higher magical resistance, Robin would have been the better champion of the two. But Chrom, despite all logic, had decided that he was going to represent the Shepherds and the Halidom of Ylisse. Any retorts had been shot down before he could even finish the sentence. Robin had not attempted to argue, either, given Chrom had no idea that he was much stronger, and that he could not afford to arouse suspicion.

As much as Robin hated it, it was going to be the stubborn prince.

Robin had recommended him a few tactics to bear in mind during the fight. A mounted unit, being accustomed to their height advantage, would be thrown off should Chrom lunge for the torso. His rapier would also work well against them and armoured units, though he doubted a knight would be sent in. Other than that, his best advice had been for the prince to know his assets and use them well.

The crowd's cheers increased when the host announced the beginning of the tournament. The gates beneath the khans' booths opened with portentous creaks that cut through the deafening noise like the grim reaper's scythe. Chrom stepped out from below where the Shepherds sat, sending them a confident grin over his shoulder.

And his opponent stepped into the sunlight flooding the open arena, gasping in stunned surprise at the sight of the prince.

Lissa gasped, "Robin! Look!"

His eyes narrowed. "So, it's him..."

The cross-dressing masked swordswoman who named herself after the Hero-King and first exalt, Marth, was the West-Khan's champion. Her armour and clothing had been cleaned and patched up since they had first met, and she looked healthier, less pale and not as if her skin was stretched over her skeleton, too. Robin heard Chrom gasp, and focused on what was said above the cheering of the crowd.

Eventually, the prince called out to her. "Marth! One question, before we begin?"

No answer. He scoffed, but the sound was in no way arrogant or derogatory to his opponent. Rather, he seemed a little amused at the obvious lack of reply.

"...Fine, then." He drew Falchion, and held it in front of him. The crowd became still at the sight of Naga's Fang. "Our swords can speak for us."

Marth's silent response was to draw her own sword, holding the blade out in front of her and mirroring Chrom's posture.

Her sword was Falchion.

A collective gasp ran through the arena. Murmurs started buzzing around, above all among the Shepherds.

"No way!" Lissa exclaimed in disbelief, squinting at the two blades. "How can there be TWO Falchions?"

"Impossible..." Frederick whispered from Robin's other side. "A replica to match the alias, perhaps? It cannot be anything else."

Robin remembered what Emmeryn had said back in the capital. The blade Falchion had slain the fell dragon a thousand years ago, by the hands of the Hero-King, which meant there could be one, and only one.

So how come there were two right in front of them?

"Where did you get that?" Chrom asked the swordswoman. Once again, he received only stoic silence, accompanied by the glinting of the parallel blade. "There's no way..."

Having said that, Chrom jumped and brought his sword vertically down onto her. Marth blocked the blow with her identical blade above her head and pushed him away with a grunt. They exchanged a barrage of blows, Chrom actually being pushed back a little by Marth's faster swings, leading Robin to bite his lip in worry. Marth slashed diagonally at Chrom's head, but he simply ducked beneath it.

"Tell me--who taught you to fight like that?" he demanded in between blows, before locking blades with her.

The swords sparked as they ground against each other, neither of their owners backing down, until they simultaneously jumped back. Chrom and Marth both brought their blades horizontally up to their shoulders, and mirrored each other as they lunged, easily gliding past without even a scratch.

Chrom skidded to a halt as Marth went for the same downwards slash as he had begun the duel with. In answer to his question, as the blade was about to crash down on him, she grunted through gritted teeth in her fake voice,

"My father!"

Chrom rolled out of the way of the blow that he himself had used, and Marth turned with her sword pointed at him. The prince, however didn't raise his sword against her, but only stared sceptically at her stance.

The eerie silence and tension in the arena was suffocating. No one dared speak a word as Robin focused on what Chrom was saying.

"Who is your father?"

Robin noticed Marth tense, and smelled her nervousness. But there was no trace of it in her faked male voice.

"I've said enough about me for one day, sir." She replied coolly, eyes hidden behind the mask. "Rather, I have a question for you."

The prince frowned, about to respond, when she cut him off, "Why are you my opponent?"

"Because I chose to be," he replied simply.

Marth pressed on, "Did nobody try to stop you? Fight in your place?"

"My tactician did, but that's it."

The swordswoman lowered her sword a little, dropping her guard. She seemed to be debating something, shaking her head slowly. She seemed to mutter something beneath her breath, but it was too quiet for Robin or Chrom to hear.

"Why do you ask?" the man questioned.

Marth shook herself out of her musings. "That's...none of your concern."

He scoffed at her refusal. "Is that how it is? Lissa owes you her life, and for that you have my gratitude. But within these walls, I represent the East-Khan and the interests of Ylisse." He tightened his grip on Falchion. "I can't promise to stay my blade, but I vow not to shame you."

Now it was Marth's turn to scoff. "Heh, never expected such youthful arrogance..." she said, slight amusement leaking into her tone. She fixed her posture. "We shall see who shames who!"

With that, she lunged at Chrom, but he dodged it and countered by swinging his sword in an arc downwards onto Marth.

The next moments were as if they were fighting their own reflection, each knowing how the other would move next, and acting accordingly, only to be thwarted by a technique they already knew. Both champions had rapidly exhausted themselves, slowing their movements. The greatest problem, however, was that Marth appeared to be more experienced. Chrom had to gain an edge over her, but how? She was stronger, faster, certainly more resilient to pain, and appeared to know his every move.

Chrom managed to cut her arm, then gave another horizontal slash, which she blocked. Chrom, however, must have been expecting it, as he twisted the twin blade out of her grasp, then hit her on her solar plexus with the pommel of his sword. Hers clattered to the side, and she fell backwards onto the stone tiles.

She hastily grabbed it from beside her, but had no time to stand as Chrom's Falchion met hers from above, the man heavily leaning on his blade and using his only advantage against the more skilled champion--his mass. She struggled against his weight put behind the blade, the metal slowly inching closer to her torso and face as her trembling arms slowly started to give way.

"Impressive..." she grunted out, "if not surprising."

She pushed back against him, actually succeeding in lifting him off of her a little, but then, to everyone's surprise, tossed her sword aside, the blade scraping against its twin before clattering onto the stone again. Chrom quickly backtracked lest he injure her, and she made no move to get up.

"I yield!" Marth announced to the silent crowd.

It took a moment for people to react, before those in favour of the East-Khan, the Shepherds especially, broke into cheers and congratulations. As the Ylisseans and Khan Flavia made their way down the step, Robin continued to watch and listen. Chrom seemed to ignore it all, instead sheathing his sword and extending a hand to his fallen opponent. Marth stared at it for a moment, and shakily stood without his help.

"Well fought! You have my respect," congratulated the now reigning Khan Flavia, clapping the prince on the back.

"That's our Chrom!" Vaike yelled as he tried to tackle the prince, only succeeding in pushing him before being punched in the shoulder in retaliation.

Sully scoffed gruffly. "He only won because of his fat royal arse!" she joked, eliciting a round of laughter from the others and a meek attempt at a scolding from Stahl.

Flavia chuckled at their behaviour towards the crown prince, then continued, "Perhaps more to the point, though, you have your alliance. I will provide Ylisse with the soldiers she needs."

Chrom grinned ecstatically. "Thank you, East-Khan." He bowed.

"I should thank you! It feels like ages since I've held full power," Flavia stated with an equally pleased grin. "Come, my new friends! Tonight, we celebrate!"

With that, she turned on her heels and hurried, almost ran out through the eastern gate, barking orders before it had even closed behind her.

The Shepherds turned when they heard a new, heavier pair of footsteps behind them. They belonged to someone who definitely befitted Robin's imagination of a khan. The dark-skinned man wore golden armour with leather straps across his broad shoulders and on his forearms, and a regal collar of white feathers. He was bald and an eyepatch covered his left eye. Scars crisscrossed his bare chest, which was bulging with muscle, and he seemed just as old and battle-hardened as the East-Khan. He was of the warrior class, an advanced class of fighters like Vaike, wielding axes and bows.

Behind him was a swordsman with a katana sheathed at his hip. He had pale skin, angular features, and his messy hair was so dark it was almost black, just like his narrow almond-shaped eyes. He was wearing clothing much like a kimono. Pale fur lined the collar and short sleeves of the cerulean robe, a red obi holding it in place. The curved blade and woven hilt of a killing edge was held at his side, a hand never far from it. The bottom half of the blue material parted and flowed behind him in three strips, exposing his legs clad in beige trousers and leather boots. He observed the Shepherds from behind the older man, silent and dour. He was a myrmidon, a class excelling at swordsmanship, speed, and skill.

But something told Robin that name was incorrect. Not in the sense of that not being that class' name in Ylissean, but something just felt...off to him.

"Bah! Any excuse for a party and Flavia jumps on it..." the larger man growled throatily, shaking his head in weary amusement with his arms crossed.

Chrom turned to face him slowly. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"I'm Basilio, the West-Khan you so rudely removed from power!" Despite the words, there was no malice in his tone. There was, in fact, respect in Khan Basilio's deep voice when he continued, "You're handy with a sword, boy. I thought for sure I'd picked the stronger man."

"What do you know about him?" Chrom demanded, perhaps a little too hastily.

The West-Khan cocked a brow. "You mean that 'Marth'? Bah!" He waved his hand dismissively. "He's just some sellsword with delusions of grandeur. All I know is that he turned up one eve and knocked my old champion flat. It was love at first sight, and I'm generally too old for such things!" he laughed at his own joke, one Khan Flavia might have joined in with at his expense. "Anyway, he's gone now."

Robin looked again, and deflated. Marth had disappeared, leaving nothing behind but a memory. Chrom seemed equally disturbed, but was much better at hiding it.

Lissa innocently clasped her hands behind her back and rocked on her feet, eyes closed. "He's so dark and mysterious..." She breathed a dreamy sigh.

Robin looked at her from over his shoulder. "Sounds like Marth's got at least one fan..."

Lissa shot him a look. "Well, I mean, c'mon. He IS sort of dreamy, isn't he?"

Chrom abruptly turned to face her, teeth gritted in anger. "And YOU'RE sort of dreaming!"

Lissa, though initially startled, giggled at him. "Yowch! Lighten up, Big Brother. I was just kidding."

Before Chrom could retort, a pointed cough from Frederick interrupted him. "Milord? Milady? If this fascinating discussion is over, we'd best return home. Exalt Emmeryn will want this news of our alliance and the information immediately."

Robin debated for a moment what that information was, before he quickly realised--ghouls.

Chrom unclenched his fists, briefly meeting the ghoul's gaze. "Right as always, Frederick."

As they turned to leave, Basilio's booming voice caused them to halt. "Hold, boy. Before you go, I have a little present for you."

The dour swordsman stepped forward at the silent command, fixating the prince with a cold stare.

"This is Lon'qu, my former champion," the khan introduced proudly. "Not much for talking, mind you, but he's peerless with a sword. As good as Marth, in my mind. To be honest, I can't figure out how Marth bested him so quickly."

Robin smelled a small wave of fear roll off of Lon'qu at the mention.

Lissa's gaze moved to look the swordsman up and down. "Marth beat him? But he's so big and strong..."

As she murmured the words of praise, she closed in on him. After she had only taken a few steps, another wave of fear pulsated from him. "Away, woman!" he suddenly blurted, voice only just level.

Lissa stopped in surprise and looked at the others. "Hey! Wh-what did I say?" she asked the West-Khan, who only laughed at both her and Lon'qu's expense.

"Ha! Let's just say that ladies put Lon'qu on edge. Nonetheless, he is capable. Perhaps he even has the makings of a khan. Consider him West Ferox's contribution to the Ylissean cause."

Robin mulled the words over in his mind. 'Ladies put him on edge'. Was that the cause of the fear wafting from Lon'qu? If that was indeed the case, it made perfect sense that he happened to lose to Marth.

"You're certain about this?" Chrom asked Basilio.

"Yes, yes. He's your man now," the older man replied with a shooing motion.

Chrom faced the myrmidon. "And Lon'qu? You have no objections?"

Lon'qu finally spoke up. "He gives orders. I stab people. I think our roles are clear," he stated simply.

After a moment of hesitation, Chrom held out his hand. "Alright then. Welcome aboard."

Lon'qu shook it obediently, posture ramrod straight.

Later that evening, when Robin had finally managed to escape the partygoers to expel the food he had consumed, he caught a scent as he walked the darkened corridors. He slowed to a halt, breathing deeply.

It was not one scent, but the accumulation of at least fifty, and they did not belong to the supporters of the East-Khan. They were coming from the arena. The first thing Robin noticed, however, was that the scents did not belong to any human that he would find enticing. In fact, he felt no hunger at all, only indifference, to the scents. Unlike what he had detected so far, he didn't feel like eating who they belonged to. In fact, the very thought of eating them disgusted him almost as much as the idea of biting into the decaying flesh of the Risen.

They were ghouls. And there were so many of them. Far too many for a human gathering to be safe here.

He hastily followed the stench through the many corridors of Castle Ferox, not caring about how he would find his way back. All that was on his mind was ensuring no ghoul threatened the Shepherds. He passed knocked out guards, which only aggravated his worries, until the smells lead him to a pair of grand doors he actually recognised.

The doors led to the seating area of the arena.

He smelled blood. So much human blood. The ghouls on the other side of the doors were cheering. They were calling for the deaths of more humans. But, above all, the other sounds coming from the other side...

They were horrifying.

Flesh--human flesh--sizzling. The owner screaming, begging for mercy. Her cries turning to shrieks encouraged by the spectators taking pleasure in her cries of agony, ordering the 'scrapper' to hurry up and just cook her, cook her alive on the grill! They wanted the woman's blood to be spilled, for it to be as messy as possible. They felt exhilaration about her being shamelessly torn apart, viscera, flesh and crimson decorating the arena.

Robin had no need to see. It was graphic enough through the crowd's cries, the victim's death throes, and the commentator's descriptions.

"AND NOW THE SCRAPPER WILL PREPARE OUR DESSERT!!" the voice boomed when male cries took over the woman's, speaking of them as though they were inanimate.

Cries in a multitude languages came from the crowd.

"Gut him!"

"Gouge his eyes out!"

"Rip him apart!"

"Keep him alive!"

Such cruelty and disregard for life was wrong. Even Robin, with his naturally loose grasp on these concepts, could understand that. It was morally incorrect and beyond tolerance. It was wrong, plain and simple.

And yet, despite how horrid it was, he couldn't help but think of how human this behaviour could appear when put into perspective. Watching the livestock be slaughtered and prepared to eat, yelling for it to be done faster, cheering when the guts were spilled. It was a disgusting comparison to humanity.

But, considering the positions of ghouls and humans and the relation to their foods, it was almost understandable.

Maniacal laughter echoed from the other side, joining in the cacophony of sounds. The laughter was nothing less than that of a psychopathic madman, powered by insanity and bloodlust. It came out in irregular bouts, accompanied by the sound of a hand hitting a leg and the crash of a chair hitting the stone flooring.

"Please, calm yourself, MK!" a male voice called.

"And why, PG?!" the maniacal man growled, laughter stifled. Robin heard clothing and leather scuffing against stone as he stood up, and palms slamming against the stone wall before the seating. "I'M the one who brought you all this feast, you ungrateful maggots!"

"Oh no, MK!" an eccentric female voice blurted. "I, for one, am very glad I came for this delicious Plegian meat. Well worth the long travel and struggle to find room in my busy schedule!"

"Well, thank you, Big Madam!" MK spat back at her, spiteful.

Robin chose the moment when the voices continued cheering to leave, get away from the screams of a man being torn asunder and cooked alive. He could not allow them to hear him, nor let his scent settle like a trail of blood on pure snow, too easy to follow.

* * *

_The Butterfly flutters in distress. Something is incorrect. Something has gone wrong._

_Where is Hope?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot, as promised, and there's only more to come next chapter. So much more to come!
> 
> Everything's kicking off now!
> 
> Thank you so much for your support so far! Constructive criticism and feedback are always welcome! I check my emails in the morning, and getting notifications for these things always makes my day!
> 
> And please, out of consideration for those unfamiliar with one of the two fandoms, try to keep spoilers in reviews and comments to a minimum!!
> 
> ...I probably should have mentioned that earlier, huh.
> 
> Translations:   
> Ghoul - 喰種 ("gūru"), meaning approximately "eater species".   
> Rinkaku - red tentacle.
> 
>  
> 
> MAJOR SPOILERS FOR TG:re BELOW!!
> 
> I've just gotta say this...
> 
> Around forty chapters ago (Chapter 45, I think), Eto said that the One-Eyed King is "not me." Those last two words surrounded a panel with Haise in it. At that moment, I thought to myself, "He's the king."
> 
> .....
> 
> ...I. Freakin'. CALLED IT!!


	8. Clandestine Kindness

Midday sunlight flooded through the glass doors leading to the elaborate royal balcony, bathing the room with burgundy walls lined with gold, its mahogany furniture and its inhabitant in golden rays. Slouching in the ornate chair at her desk, the wood hidden beneath scrolls of parchment covering various topics, Exalt Emmeryn read more of the documents Miriel had left her on the subject of ghouls. A slight furrow between her brows was ever-present, wrinkling the Brand of the Exalt just above them. Her halo-like crown, slip-on heels and her jade and gold cloak had been discarded. She was dressed only in her elegant white dress and pale green stockings, and the hair above her forehead was a little messed up from her having been constantly running her fingers through it.

The conflict between man and man-eater made her think of her own against Plegia. War was inching ever-closer. She could delay it as much as she will, but everyone knew it was inevitable. But more importantly to her, the tensions were caused by one thing; prejudice, judging the many by the few.

And it was the same with ghouls. They were not all bloodthirsty beasts like so many people believed. She was certain so many of them simply wanted to be human, to not need to kill others and be able to enjoy what mankind so praised--food. She knew first hand that not all ghouls were what so many people believed, but she could also confirm that a dangerous ghoul was the cause of the sudden spike of deaths in southern Ylisse, untraceable until the crematorium raid had caught their attention. She knew things that she could never reveal to anyone, not even her siblings, for the safety of those she was indebted to. That was the true reason she hesitated to tell them everything she knew of ghouls, despite her duty dictating otherwise.

Her ideals of virtue and wish for repayment demanded her silence.

She had spent a lot of time looking through Miriel's studies now. The scholar had done a very good job, even if some of it was hard to understand. What could be very well understood, however, were the pseudonyms and kagune descriptions. The nicknames and ratings from C to SSS were the identities ghouls were known by, the kagune their appearances.

Sighing and turning to the next page of the mage's leather-bound notes, directly translated from Chon'sin, she came to a page detailing some of the more dangerous ghouls. As she skimmed over the outdated documents, she froze.

After a moment of sitting completely stunned, she straightened from her unladylike position and rubbed her eyes to make sure what she read was truly what she believed.

_ Binge Eater - S _  
_Rc Type: Rinkaku_  
_Voracious. Appearance unknown._  
_Last sighting in Plegia._  
_Bureau investigators unable to confirm precise location. Ghoul investigators were all murdered and partially eaten. Most bodies were unidentifiable._

Words from fourteen years ago echoed in Emmeryn's mind, many of them above the then eleven-year-old's comprehension, but now bearing a weight she could have never imagined.

_"My past is one of diabolical seduction, ruthless murder, and sinful indulgence."_

Emmeryn breathed shakily, rereading the file several times as the memories of that night began flooding from the recesses of her mind, as though a dam had been breached. "It's her..."

She remembered it quite well, despite it happening at the very beginning of her reign. She had never seen the entire face of the mother, only her lips and a few locks of purple hair, enough to know that she must have been a gorgeous young woman beneath the now-familiar cloak, but she had caught a glimpse of the little boy's eyes.

They had horrified her, and still did. They had been completely void of emotion, like the blank surface of the moon--staring, ever present, yet unreachable. The only feelings reflected in them had been Emmeryn's own, simply mirrored on the crystalline surface.

She had never seen those eyes again, until their owner had appeared before her in the most unlikely of circumstances.

Those eyes, such a pale shade of blue that they were practically silver, had been forgotten by the one they belonged to, but Emmeryn could have never forgotten that silent, traumatised albino child. The son of the ghoul, Binge Eater, who had saved her from a premature death.

He had been completely different when they had met again. All his emotions had been bared, his heart worn upon his sleeve. He had been bashful and anxious, nervous in the presence of the exalt, fearful at the sight of his branding and the meaning of his cloak--the same cloak his mother had been wearing back then--then breathlessly grateful when she had accepted him, despite everything.

Robin. A ghoul who had no recollection of them having ever met before. No recollection of his apparent lack of emotion when he had been only two years old. No recollection of the mother who loved him so.

She felt tears prick at her eyes and her face heat up at the memories coming back to her. She had just been a little girl on a sleepless night, when Robin's mother had saved her from a dozen men, before removing some flesh from one of the corpses and letting her son eat the fallen.

Even Robin's perspective had apparently changed. Back then, he had eaten the meat without as much as a second thought, but in Southtown he, allegedly, had been terrified at the mere sight of a corpse Chrom had seen him kill with a clear mind. Was that related to his amnesia perhaps? Had it granted him a new point of view on these matters, a fresh start, only for it to be shattered by his body's need? Or was it related to his apparent development of emotions?

Of course, both Robin and his mother's actions could have been ploys to gain her trust, but she doubted it. They would naturally be good actors, having faked their humanity their entire lives, but neither had shown any ill will towards her, nor the wish to devour her, despite the young woman having commented on how enticing the exalt's scent was. In fact, Robin's mother had taught her some valuable, but nonetheless cruel, lessons for the future. The darker, yet nonetheless true, side of things, the one she chose to acknowledge as true, but not outright face. Robin's mother, and Robin himself, had a completely different mentality and morality to humans. All ghouls would have a differing view of the world around them.

Though perhaps hers had been especially cynical and derogatory.

Emmeryn felt her heart leap up her throat in panic, and she whirled her head around fast enough to surely give herself whiplash at the sudden knock on her door.

"Emm? It's us, we're back!" Chrom's voice rang from the other side of the wood. She hesitantly turned back to the open documents, inhaling and exhaling deeply to calm her shaky breathing. She felt herself trembling at being cut off with such dangerous thoughts on her mind, her own heartbeat echoing in her ears and muffling any outside sounds.

She slipped on her shoes and fixed her hair a little, before she cleared her throat and called back with faked nonchalance, "Come in, Chrom!"

The door had opened before she even finished her sentence, and Lissa became a yellow blur as she bounced up to pull her elder sister into a tight embrace. Chrom chuckled at the sight, and wrapped his own arms around their shoulders gently. He let go sooner than his younger sister, and gestured to the nearby sofas and coffee table.

"Shall we sit?"

Emmeryn chuckled breathlessly (whether from her sister's chokehold or her shock at them appearing, she wasn't entirely certain), and stood up once Lissa had finally let go. "Be my guests."

They sat down, Emmeryn on the couch opposite her siblings, a mahogany table lined with gold and ivory the only thing separating them.

"I trust the journey went well, Chrom, Lissa?" she asked softly.

Lissa piped up first. "It was freeeeezing!"

Chrom chuckled, and then explained the events that had transpired during the trip. Sumia finding a mount, the business with Khan Flavia, the championship and their recruitment of Lon'qu.

Emmeryn maintained her gentle smile throughout the retelling of events, but it felt more strained than usual. She realised how unlike her it was, but she still couldn't help but worry about her siblings somehow, her imagination conjuring up impossible scenarios, finding out about what she was doing behind their backs, concealing from the two she trusted most. Of course, she mused, she had no right to complain about these insecurities when compared to the fear of discovery ghouls spent their entire lives with. She felt a pang of sympathy for their resident interloper.

"Thank you, Chrom. I knew sending the Shepherds was the right choice," she said to him once his explanation was complete, gratitude clear in her voice and (she prayed) drowning out her anxiety.  
  
"You should see Ferox's warriors!" Chrom exclaimed, a grin similar to whenever Vaike, his friend and rival, challenged him spreading across his face. "Perhaps now our people will be safe from--"

The door slammed open, cutting him off. Phila stood hunched over, panting heavily and sweat running down her forehead, face flushed from exertion. She must have run through the entire castle to reach them as soon as possible.

Emmeryn had only rarely seen Phila this panicked. Only when the situation was truly dire did she ever react this way. Otherwise, she was always calm and composed, even cold to some. So, naturally, she feared what her retainer had to report.

Once the falcon knight could actually form a coherent sentence, she apologised in a hurry, "Y-your Grace! M-milord, milady!" She swallowed, throat dry. "F-forgive me, but I bring alarming news!" she half yelled in her rush.

"Phila! Slow down, please!" Emmeryn pleaded as she grasped the older woman's shoulders and guided her to the couch. Once Phila was seated, the exalt knelt on the ground in front of her, placing a calming hand on her armoured knee. Like Chrom, in situations such as these, Emmeryn could not bear to be looking down upon someone. "What's happened?"

"Plegian soldiers have been sighted inside our southwest border!" she blurted, calmed only by the slightest. "They attacked a village in Themis and abducted the duke's daughter."

Lissa clapped her hands over her mouth, face reddening and eyes glistening with tears. "No! Not Maribelle!" she cried, voice muffled, then desperately tugged her brother's arm. "Chrom, we have to do something!"

He was about to respond, anger already darkening his features, when Phila continued, "There's more; King Gangrel of Plegia claims Lady Maribelle invaded HIS country, and he demands we pay reparations for this 'insult'."

"And we're to believe a dastard like the Mad King of Plegia?" Chrom growled, left fist clenching around the fabric of his trousers and his right twitching for his sword.

"Peace, Chrom," Emmeryn spoke firmly, looking him in the eye. "We must keep our wits about us."

"We should put a sword in his gut and be done with it!" he near roared in outrage, and it seemed to be all he could do to keep himself from storming off right there and then. "The Mad King has been trying to provoke war with Ylisse at every step! He won't stop until he drags this whole continent to hell with him!"

"I agree with the prince, Your Grace," Phila stated, more composed than him, but still tense. "We must demonstrate to Plegia that such actions have consequences."

Emmeryn sighed, and faced her brother. "I understand your feelings, Chrom. Truly, I do. But if we give him the war he wants, then we lose, no matter the outcome. Our last conflict nearly ruined the halidom. It left Ylisseans homeless and starving." And easy victims to predacious ghouls, but that remained unsaid around Lissa. She shook her head. "We cannot repeat that mistake," she murmured as she stood up and made her way over to her balcony window.

Maribelle Themis had the misfortune of having been born into an influential house, and therefore being an invaluable hostage. Their territory was known for peaceful trades with Plegia, and therefore had little security compared to the rest of the border. Perhaps the exalt had held King Gangrel in too high a regard, or perhaps hopes. She knew that her wish to see the best in people could become a bane. By the philosophy Robin's mother believed in, it even made her weak. She swiftly shut off the words bouncing around the walls of her skull.

She found herself looking up at the birds, as though they knew the answer, as she debated her next course of action. She felt envious to those birds, flying blissfully unaware of the burdens suffered by those below them. She lowered her head again, closing her eyes as she braced herself for their screaming and begging, and spoke the words they dreaded,

"I will offer parley with King Gangrel."

All three of the others present stood up at the same time, with such force that the couches ground and creaked against the floor, Chrom and Lissa's almost toppling.

"Emm, no! You can't!" Lissa shrieked in panic.

"Please reconsider, Your Grace," Phila pleaded. "He cannot be trusted to act in good faith!"

The exalt looked back at them sharply. "So we either choose to march to war or leave Lady Maribelle to die?"

_"By trying to save both, you are actu ally forsaking both."_

She shook her head to silence the words Robin's mother had spoken. They had been in the context of lacking the strength and resolve to either give one thing up, or kill the one responsible for the situation, which Emmeryn was certain was not the case with herself.

"No. I will not accept that," she said, finality clear in her tone and a frown crinkling her brow.

"...Forgive me, Your Grace," Phila relented meekly, lowering herself to a bow. "I spoke out of turn. I know you will stand always by your own principles. Pray, allow the pegasus knights to accompany you, though."

"I'm going, too," Chrom finally said, apprehensive. "...Someone has to save you from your good intentions."

"And I want to be there for you AND Maribelle!" Lissa added in.

Emmeryn took a deep breath, and faced them with fresh resolve. "As you wish. Thank you all. Your strength will be mine."

A few days later, just after dusk, Chrom and Emmeryn watched outside the carriage that would take the Ylissean royals and their personal guards to where they would meet the king; the Border Pass weaving its way through a mountain range separating Ylisse and Plegia. Members of the Shepherds and the elite of the pegasus knights milled about the area, loading the convoys and carriages in the courtyard cloaked by the night. They were going to hastily ride through the night, and nobody was really looking forward to it.

"Hey, Robin! Come here!" Chrom called once the tactician had placed another crate in the Shepherds' convoy. He tilted his head slightly in curiosity, and a hint of nervousness when he noticed Emmeryn's presence, but complied.

As he entered the light the prince's lantern shed, Chrom cocked a brow at the thick tome still in Robin's hands. "What's that?"

A bashful grin made its way onto the boy's face, and he lowered his gaze to the item in question. "This is a book on strategies. Even though I know all of what I've seen in it so far, it's helped refresh my memory a bit."

"May I ask to what extent your amnesia affects you, Robin?" Emmeryn suddenly asked, catching them both off guard.

"Y-Your Grace!" Robin blurted ungracefully in surprise, hastily bowing to her before he stuttered out his reply. "U-um... I think what I've studied and have been trained in is mostly still present, and...uh..."

Chrom chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "Calm down, Robin!"

Emmeryn also found herself suppressing a giggle. "Please, just speak to me the same way as you would to my little brother."

Robin kept his gaze lowered, mumbling out a small apology and fiddling with the cuffs of his Grimleal cloak. Emmeryn noticed the vambraces covering his hands, and therefore the brand, and felt a small sense of relief. She remembered his hands had been covered back then, too.

"Well, you're in the same carriage as Emm, Lissa and me, so you can keep reading if you wish," Chrom added, visibly suppressing a grin at the sight of his awkward tactician.

"Your Grace!" Emmeryn turned at Phila's call, just as the ice-haired woman bowed and made her report. "The pegasus knights are prepared to march."

"As are we!" Stahl called from the Shepherds' convoy, making final adjustments to the reins of his and Sully's horses, which would be pulling the wagons.

Chrom nodded in approval, as Emmeryn did to Phila.

"Then I guess it's time to leave," Lissa mumbled, still downtrodden without her best friend, and climbed into the carriage without another word.

"Captain!" called the voice of a young boy. The three outside the carriage turned to the source, only to see an auburn-haired boy in his early teens, wearing the pointed hat and loose robes of a mage, running up to them. He bowed to the exalt, holding his pale navy hat in place as he did and fixing his blue and beige robes, which had been messed up from running up to them. He readjusted the satchel hanging from his shoulder and his grip on the emerald green-bound Elwind tome.

Despite his notably young appearance--his small stature and round face leading many to underestimate his age--his body was fit to burst with mana. Given the wide-eyed look on his face, Enmeryn was certain Robin could also feel the potency. It was almost enough to make other mages shudder.

"I'm all packed! When do we leave?!" he asked Chrom frantically.

"Ricken? How did you..." Chrom trailed off, shaking his head in annoyance before adopting the strict expression and tone of a leader. "Go back inside. You're not old enough for this mission."

Ricken pouted, clutching the tome. "But, Captain! You know my skill with magic! You know I can handle myself!"

Anima magic had four normal classes, named accordingly. The standard spells were named after their elements, the more powerful ones had the prefix 'El', the even greater ones 'Arc', and the mightiest, fourth-tier spells had unique names. For someone Ricken's age to already be wielding a second-tier spell was quite a feat, and with his high amount of mana, he was doubtlessly one of the most powerful mages in the castle.

But that didn't matter to Chrom, who would not tolerate the novice Shepherd accompanying them on such a mission, whether he was Maribelle's fiancé or not. Nor would Emmeryn intervene, as this was to be a peaceful discussion, not a battle against King Gangrel's forces. The Shepherds and pegasus knight escort were merely a precaution.

"I'd feel safer with your magic here, protecting the garrison, alright?" Chrom explained, before he stepped into the carriage, gesturing for Robin to follow suit. "We're off, then. Be good."

He, Robin, and Emmeryn then got into the carriage with Lissa, and the exalt heard the boy angrily mutter something just before the door closed,

"'Be good'? Gods, how old does he think I am? ...Well, I'll show him just how good I can be!"

Emmeryn noted Robin's gaze was fixated upon the mage as the carriage started moving, and didn't leave him until the gates of Castle Ylisse had been shut behind the party.

Such eerie eyes, Emmeryn noted as the tactician, who sat opposite her, started reading after a while. There was not a single doubt in her head about his inhuman identity. How must it have felt to think of oneself as a human, surrounded by human moral standards, only for that all to slowly break apart as he realised, with an increasing feeling of dread, that he was not normal?

"Hey, Chrom? What do you think of Lon'qu?" Lissa asked out of the blue, and Emmeryn looked away from Robin in time to notice Chrom tense at the question.

"Isn't that the Feroxi swordsman that came back with you?" Emmeryn asked.

To her surprise, Robin was the one who answered. Perhaps his confidence around her had been raised by her earlier attempt at communication with him. "Indeed, Your Grace. Lissa immediately took an interest in him," he teased, giving the youngest a knowing look.

From beside her sister, Lissa shot him a look of betrayal. "What? He's cute!" She sighed, shoulders slumping. "...But not interested..."

Emmeryn chuckled. "A crush from afar, is it?"

Chrom loosened up with a laugh of his own, confusing her. "Think more literally, Emm! The poor guy can't get within ten feet of a woman without having a heart attack."

Lissa smirked, and whispered into her sister's ear. "Mhm... But there's nothing stopping him and Sumia..."

Emmeryn giggled, and she noticed Robin covering his mouth to hide his own smirk, having heard it thanks to his sharper senses. Chrom shot them a wary look.

"What did you just say, Lissa?"

She tapped her nose. He groaned, knowing that getting her to spill was practically impossible at this point. Instead, he elbowed Robin in the ribs, a yelp bursting from the boy at the contact, and fixated him with a glare.

"Don't think I didn't notice you not trying to laugh!" he accused. "Tell me!"

Robin shook his head vehemently, pulling his knees up to his chest and squeezing his body into a ball. He mumbled an attempt at a defiant, "Nope!"

Chrom sighed, his annoyance increasing and Robin making himself smaller.

Lissa giggled. "Barely two weeks and you're already like brothers!"

Chrom feigned annoyance. Robin froze. Emmeryn's stomach dropped at the sight.

The ghoul among them retracted into himself even further than she had believed possible without breaking something, eyes suddenly shimmering with tears he would not let fall, blinking rapidly to try to get rid of them. Gods, what was he thinking? About the fact that he had no clue about his family? About whether they loved him or not, or if they were even still alive? That last one was truly questionable, considering that no contact had been made despite him having a decently renowned position.

The youngest princess seemed to realise her irrevocable mistake, face paling as she fumbled with her words. "Gods! Sorry, Robin! I didn't mean... I know you don't--"

"'S okay..." Robin mumbled, rubbing his nose and still refusing to look at them, breathing shallowly. Needless to say, he was far from convincing. Chrom gave his shoulder a squeeze, at a loss for what else to do.

Emmeryn took it upon herself to change the subject, backtracking the conversation a little. "On the matter of Lon'qu, I'm surprised to hear of someone with a Chon'sin name in Ylisse," she commented.

"Huh? What's Chon'sin?" Lissa asked. She then immediately seemed to regret the question, having covered geography in her classes already. The look her eldest sibling shot her spoke volumes of her opinion on that.

Knowing Robin would be interested, if his curious stare and slightly more open posture were any indication, she explained, "Chon'sin is the southern land in Valm, ruled by Emperor Yen'fay. They have a very different culture from us, and..."

She trailed off, the thought of that land interlacing with another--Robin's mother had had a Chon'sin accent. She tried to avoid scrutinising him, but noted his shorter stature, narrow almond-shaped eyes, and flatter nose. His features weren't as prominent as what she had noted of Lon'qu's appearance the one time she'd seen him, but nonetheless present.

"And?" Lissa asked, breaking her out of her musings.

"A-ah..." She struggled until she had regained her train of thought. Chon'sin. Right. "They also have a completely different language and writing system," she finished.

Chrom frowned in concern, hand still on Robin's shoulder. The tactician wasn't shaking it off. It was probably grounding him to reality in that instance. "You sure you're alright, Emm? You've been spacing out more often recently."

"Oh, I've just had a lot on my mind as of late," she half-lied swiftly, almost flinching at the pang of guilt it caused. How she hated this dangerous secrecy, but it was for the sake of Robin and his kin.

The prince nodded vaguely, apparently making only a slightly incorrect connection; ghouls. After a moment of deliberation, during which Robin and Lissa looked completely lost as to what the eldest royals meant, he met her gaze with a small sigh.

"We ought to all get some rest now. It's already dark, and we'll doubtlessly have quite a bit of frustration tomorrow," he stated grimly, shifting in his seat and trying to get comfortable, resting his head on the window and closing his eyes, but not after giving Robin one last glance.

Lissa hummed in acknowledgement, looking at Emmeryn in silent questioning, to which the exalt nodded, before resting her head on her sister's lap and tucking her legs up onto her seat. Robin tilted his gaze back down to the book in his lap, and opened the bookmarked page to read.

Emmeryn watched him long after her brother and sister had fallen asleep, noting the steely aloofness his gaze as he read, determination clear in his silver irises. And yet, as he had watched the landscape pass earlier, despite the darkness, he had seemed to be trying to soak in every little detail he saw with almost petulant curiosity. It was as though she had been looking at a different person, as if he was how the child all those years ago should have been.

Lissa had already explained her findings on his amnesia from during the march to Ferox. He had elaborated on how he had felt when encountering snowflakes for the first time, and Chrom had told her about his idea of pairing up soldiers during battle, something he had neglected to think of. Robin's life was only counted in weeks at this point, and yet, despite his obvious tiredness as he read in front of her, constantly rubbing his eyes and clearly struggling to stay awake, he was already working hard for their safety by studying.

Or were his motives more selfish than that? Emmeryn had dealt with trauma victims before. They sometimes tried to find solace in something they could control, obsessing with it rather than facing the source of their anxieties. A positive coping mechanism, but it was the reason behind it that merited attention. Robin seemed to displaying such behaviour, finding relief in what he knew; tactics. That, or he needed something to fill his empty mind with, something to call his own. She prayed it was the latter.

Lissa had described him as expressive and perceptive, perhaps due to his strategic nature, but a little socially awkward and nervous at times. Emmeryn wouldn't have been surprised if it turned out he felt a little insecure, either. Not in the slightest. She could only hope that this was caused by his lack of knowledge about himself, what he had done, and that he simply felt inadequate or unworthy. As a man with no past and nothing truly positive to call his own, why wouldn't he be? Hopefully this was where his insecurities ended.

How terrifying it must have been, to wake up knowing nothing, she mused. In a way, it was a fresh start, free of burdens, of knowing how many lives he had doubtlessly taken to just survive. But perhaps the unknown, perhaps being clueless on how much blood was on his hands could be worse. Fear of the unknown could be considered the base of most fears.

Sooner or later she would need to tell him about what she knew. The child she had met back then had been traumatised, shocked by something in his past that had been far too grave for a two-year-old. She had felt the need to help--gods knew how much she had wanted to help--but she could have done nothing, especially with his mother's secrecy and his inability to speak the same language. He had spoken only tiny, single words in Chon'sin, and only to his mother, precious few of which she had translated.

Regardless, Robin's amnesia may have been caused by said trauma, or a relapse of some sort. She had heard of some victims having foggy recollections, at best, of what caused their shock even though nothing had been inflicted to their heads. Sometimes the subconscious would realise how much of a struggle it would be to know of what happened and how to cope with it, so it simply 'deletes' the memory. A defence mechanism, one of the less harmful strategies, called selective amnesia. Sometimes it was a good thing, other times, it would only serve to terrify the person.

She could only hope it was in no way related to his mother. If he were to lose such a strong connection, perhaps the one consistency his entire life...

She shuddered. He already had, and only she could fix it.

But how? How could she do it without the risk of triggering something? How could she do it without further damaging the sleeping boy in front of her, who was finally free of whatever had happened in his past?

* * *

At the arranged time, the Ylisseans had reached the Border Pass, where Robin had already noted that the rocky terrain was unsuitable for battle on foot, to which Chrom had grimly informed him of Plegia's greatest military asset; wyvern riders. The tactician had frowned at that, and Emmeryn had to agree that the arrangements were suspect.

She was pacifistic, not blind. She knew King Gangrel hungered for war. She knew he would take any opportunity to instigate it. Therefore, it fell to her to keep a level head and restrain the two parties from exchanging blows. She was the one who had to rationalise between the hatred the king and her brother shared for each other, and she would do so to the best of her ability.

They finally came to a halt before another ledge, upon which King Gangrel stood.

He had wild vermillion hair which spread down into sideburns, and his skin displayed a tan that seemed almost grey. He held himself in a disgustingly regal posture, showing off his pointed golden crown, which looked like a ring of pikes, almost mockingly. His robes consisted of a dress shirt with a white collar, black trousers and boots curled at the toes like those of a court jester, and above it all a yellow cape, with the collar flaring into pointed tips, fastened with gold. Emmeryn heard obscenities being muttered around the Shepherds and the pegasus knights, disdain clear in their voices as they observed the way the King condescendingly looked down upon the exalt from his perch.

There was a woman beside him, who Emmeryn had not seen before. Her eyes were crimson, like deep pools of blood, and her lips were painted a milky white. She had dark amaranthine markings snaking along the tanned skin--a healthier shade than the Mad King's--of her forehead, cheeks, and exposed chest. Two locks of ivory hair parted at the middle and framed her face, which displayed high cheekbones and smooth features, the strands curling at her bust, the rest hidden beneath the tight black cap covering all but her face. She wore only black, her torso cover by a leotard with most of the front cut out, displaying a dangerous amount of her voluptuous breasts accentuated by the curling tattoos, and hugging her hourglass figure tightly. It ended with an equally snug miniskirt, from the back of which two pieces of cloth hung out, the ends decorated with wicked-looking ebon lace. Her nylon stockings bore black patterns the same as her tattoos, and she wore spike-heeled ankle boots.

Her collar was decorated with raven feathers, and her loose sleeves, the only conservative part of her outfit, ended with steel vambraces. Her shoulders, hips, and the back of her head were decorated with cage-like ebon armour resembling parts of a gothic chandelier. All in all, it would be idiotic to assume she was anything but a woman of high rank and infamous repute, having the right to stand beside the king.

"What's this, then?" King Gangrel cocked a brow at the sight of the Ylissean sovereign. "The exalt herself, in all her radiance? I fear I must shield my eyes! Bwa ha ha ha!"

Emmeryn kept herself from flinching at his cackles, retaining the flawless posture that had been drilled into her from a young age. "King Gangrel, I've come for the truth of this unfortunate incident between us."

The dark woman beside Gangrel hummed in amusement, taking two steps forward and jutting out her hip. "The truth? I can give you the truth."

"Perhaps milady might first share her name?" Emmeryn asked politely, and the woman quirked a half smile.

"You may call me Aversa," she purred darkly, a threatening undertone lacing her otherwise innocent words.

Emmeryn acknowledged her with a gentle nod. "Very well, Aversa. Is Maribelle unharmed?"

"Who?" Gangrel asked back in mock obliviousness, before a shark-like grin spread across his face. "Oh yes, that little blonde brat."

He turned to someone behind him and jerked his head towards the Ylisseans. A scarred thug of a soldier shoved Maribelle into view, still holding her by her bound hands behind her back. Fortunately, she didn't appear injured, only a little disheveled, several locks of hair falling into her face, one of the heart-shaped buckles of her corset broken, and the bow tying back her curls undone.

She struggled against her captor, maintaining her noble bearing as she did, and spoke clearly even in her pitiable state, "Unhand me, you gutter-born troglodyte!"

"Maribelle!" Lissa shrieked from beside her sister, tears building in her eyes. The hostage quickly turned her attention to the royal siblings, straightening her posture even further and putting on a strong façade.

"Lissa? Darling, is that you?" she called, but Aversa interrupted any possible answer.

"This girl crossed the Plegian border without our consent," she stated, circling the girl and the soldier restraining her, running her long black fingernails through Maribelle's locks. "And what's more, she wounded the brave Plegian soldiers who sought only to escort her safely home."

"LIES!" Maribelle angrily yelled back at her. "You speak nothing but lies, hag! Did they not teach you the meaning of 'truth' in wretched-crone school?!"

Aversa hummed once again, curling a lock of snowy hair around a long, slender finger almost disinterestedly as she glided back to Gangrel's side. "...You see? No manners at all. Such a nasty little bird simply had to be caged."

The king nodded in acknowledgement to his subordinate's words, then faced the Ylisseans again. "Such a violent temper speaks to her guilt. This will call for a weighty punishment. And if she were to later confess to being an Ylissean spy? My goodness! It would take an act of CONSIDERABLE good faith to repair our relations," he spat.

"I have done nothing wrong! It is they who should confess!" Maribelle cried, something she would have never done in any other situation. "They are the ones who invaded Ylisse. They razed an entire village! When I attempted to intervene, they took me and dragged me across the border. Let the plundered shops and charred homes of that village serve as my proof!"

"That would only prove Ylisse has a bandit problem--something I hear oft of late..." Gangrel sighed wearily. "But indeed, tonight I shall weep salty tears into my pillow for your dead villagers."

"Your Grace, please!"

Emmeryn held up a hand, the softness of the gesture meaning it was to calm her rather than silence her. "Peace, Maribelle. I believe you." She then raised her head to Gangrel. "King Gangrel, I request that you release this woman at once. Surely you and I can sort out these affairs without the need of hostages."

"Without so much as an apology? Why should I even bother with 'parley'?" he spat the word as though it stung his tongue. "I'm within my rights to have her head this instant and be home in time for supper."

"You black-hearted devil!" Chrom snapped, face contorted into a snarl.

The Mad King cocked a brow. "Control your dog, my dear, before he gets someone hurt."

Chrom growled, but thankfully restrained himself. Even so, Emmeryn subtly moved in front of him.

"Now then, Your Graceliness. Perhaps we can arrange a trade? Give me the Fire Emblem, and I return Mari Contrary here in one piece," he proposed, and the Ylisseans tensed.

Emmeryn's eyes widened. She had prayed for a compromise, but not one such as that. "You would ask for Ylisse's royal treasure? But why?"

"Because I know the legend! The Fire Emblem is the key to having all one's wishes realized. I have desired it for years. YEARS! ...Yet my birthday comes and goes each year, and nothing from Ylisse. Heheh…"

The Fire Emblem had once been known as the Shield of Seals, during Marth's era. The fate of the world relied upon it. It did no such thing as grant wishes, and it would not fulfil Gangrel's.

"The Emblem's power is meant for a single purpose, King Gangrel: to save the world and its people at their hour of most desperate need. Would you claim a more noble wish?" she spoke calmingly, only barely hiding her desperation behind that front.

A twisted smile appeared on the face of the Plegian King. "I want what every Plegian wants--a grisly end for every last Ylissean! What could be more noble than that?"

She stumbled slightly as she lost her composure, and could barely utter a single word. "What?"

"Surely you have not forgotten what the last exalt did to my people? Your father named us heathens! His 'crusade' across Plegia butchered countless of my subjects and my kin!"

A chocking silence fell across the gathered Ylisseans. Emmeryn noted that only two people, Lon'qu and Robin, remained indifferent to it. The former for not having been a part of it, the latter for blissful unawareness.

Eventually, the exalt mustered up the strength to speak after such a blow. She straightened her posture and met him with an even gaze. "I have never denied Ylisse's past wrongdoings. However, I have sworn to never repeat those mistakes. Ours is now a realm of peace."

The king scoffed, seemingly tempted to spit at her shoes. "Yours is now a realm of hypocrisy! Now give me the Fire Emblem!" he roared, spittle flying from his mouth.

Maribelle futilely struggled against her captor, and shouted to them once again, "No, Your Grace! I'd sooner die than act as a bargaining chip for this filthy reprobate!"

"No, Maribelle..." Emmeryn whispered, trying to find a way out of this dilemma. She was forsaking both Maribelle and the Fire Emblem. At this rate, she was running the risk of losing both. One girl, or the inanimate object that could save millions? The Emblem, or Lissa's best friend? Only the exalt could intervene.

"Urgh... Taaaaalk talk-talk-talk!" Gangrel groaned. "It's time to speak louder than words! This negotiation is over, Your Luminosity! I shall have the Emblem if I have to pry it from your shiny dead hands!"

Three Plegian soldiers ran up to the exalt at the wordless command, axes at the ready. Emmeryn gasped when she saw a blue blur rush past her and up to the head of the soldier party. In a flash, the first was downed by a deep gash across his torso, Falchion's blade tainted with blood.

"Stay back! Or you'll all suffer the same fate!" Chrom seethed at them, teeth gritted in rage.

"Oh no..." Emmeryn breathed out, just as Gangrel's shrieking laughter filled her ears like the Death Scythe scraping against its sheathe. It was too late.

"Now that's a declaration of war if I've ever heard one... A big, messy war that will bleed you Ylisseans dry! Bwa ha ha!" With that, Gangrel raised his arm, and turned to leave.

The screeching roars of bloodthirsty wyverns filled the mountainscape, and the Shepherds' tactician moved to the front of the battle-ready Ylisseans, raising his hand at those wishing to advance, including a raging Chrom. He cocked his head, seeing nothing noteworthy in the immediate area, but doubtlessly hearing and smelling the presences of the Plegian soldiers and their mounts.

"Phila! Get the exalt to safety!" he commanded, taking full control of the situation. "Everyone prepare for a full retreat!"

No doubt Robin could sense the danger present, Emmeryn thought as she followed his command. His demeanour had changed from that of an uncertain observer to that of a calculating strategist; blunt, realistic and attuned to others' movements. His tone allowed for no insubordination.

"My pegasus knights can free Lady Themis, Robin," Phila said as she landed beside the exalt, "and fend off the Plegian forces while the rest retreat."

Robin sent her a questioning look, and she nodded firmly. "Trust me. We are Ylisse's greatest asset for a reason, and I have brought only the elite."

Robin gave her a severe stare, and nodded vehemently. Phila nodded and ordered the pegasus knights to engage the Plegian forces, and hurriedly pulled the exalt up behind her on the alicorn's saddle.

As they took flight away from the soon-to-be battlefield, Emmeryn let her forehead rest against her retainer's back in rue. Gangrel had won himself his war, and would not stop until his thirst for royal Ylissean blood had been sated.

She had failed.

* * *

The Ylisseans attacked in defence by Robin's command. The prince had swiftly slain the other two soldiers who had threatened his sister with his help, the pegasus knights were engaging the Plegian wyvern riders above, the advantage of lances over axes on their side, and two falcon knights were awaiting Robin's signal to rescue Maribelle.

Only he knew why he had selected two soldiers. All three watched readily as Aversa sauntered up to the duke's daughter, eyes gleaming dangerously and her lips tilted into a condescending smile.

"Poor, stupid girl... Are you really worth fighting a war over?" she asked her with a sneer, and leaned forward so that her face was so close to the blonde's that Maribelle could doubtlessly feel her breath on her nose. "...Years from now, you'll be remembered only as she who destroyed House Ylisse."

Maribelle lowered her head and shook it sadly, her shoulders shaking with silenced sobs. "No... That's not... Oh, Lissa... Please, no…" she spoke between muffled sniffles.

Aversa leaned back, just as the turquoise blades of an Elwind spell slammed into the soldier holding Maribelle captive, slicing up his torso and arms and leaving deep gashes in their wake, and one cleaving his face in two. As the soldier fell back and the dust cleared, Aversa and Maribelle both looked around for the caster.

To their mutual surprise, a young mage ran up to the noblewoman and started pushing her away from the Plegian, staying behind with his tome raised.

"Maribelle! Go! You're free!" he yelled at her.

The girl could only stare at him in astonishment, before it morphed into ire. "RICKEN?! What are you doing here?"

"Just run!" he insisted, defiantly meeting Aversa's gaze. "We can talk about it later!"

"Oh, is this your little boyfriend?" she purred, not even moving to attack, just looking down at him with the crimson pools of her irises. "Isn't he just precious."

"Don't talk down to me, witch!" RICKEN snapped, hurriedly muttering the incantation of his spell time before he screamed the ending phrase, "ELWIND!"

The turquoise blades burst from his palm and sliced at Aversa's front, blood spraying onto the young couple from her wounds. Maribelle shrieked at the liquid splattering her and Ricken, but the boy reacted in time to push her in the direction of the Shepherds.

"Come on, Maribelle!" he encouraged, high-pitched voice betraying his shock as he shoved her past the crippled woman.

"R-right!" Maribelle agreed as she and her fiancé stumbled down the cliff face.

"Now!" Robin ordered, and the two falcon knights took flight straight up to the couple, before swooping back down to Robin and dropping them off.

"Shepherds concentrate on the foot soldiers! Everyone, we battle in retreat!"

* * *

"Wretched whelp of a boy!" Aversa cursed as she forced herself back to her feet, grasping the gaping wounds crisscrossing her torso, shredding her clothing and exposing her bosom even more. Being a dark flyer, rider of an ebon pegasus wielding tomes and lances, had its advantages, but not against the element of wind. She felt violet lightning tingling and sparking between the fingertips of her right hand, begging to kill the brat that had injured her. A growl escaped her lips and she clenched her hand into a fist, killing the dark magic. "No. There'll be plenty of time for that, later."

She turned and eyed the Shepherds' tactician, who was commanding the soldiers' movements whilst picking off Plegians with his Wind and Thunder tomes. A flash of recognition shot through Aversa's eyes as she caught sight of his. A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, and a dark chuckle escaped them.

"Oh, there definitely will be," she purred. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Having been properly instructed on them since originally publishing this part, I feel like I've misused the concepts of trauma and PTSD. They are harder to get than most make out to be. It's not just about night terrors, flashbacks, and "triggers", but absolute misery and reclusion, the inability to live a normal life. Nonetheless, if you or someone you know has experienced something people would call traumatic, don't hesitate to seek, or encourage them to find, help! 
> 
> I guess it's pretty obvious to TG fans who Robin's mother is now. Those who know both fandoms here also know exactly why it works so PERFECTLY (especially if they're up to date on the manga). She may seem a bit OOC at first, but give it time. Bear in mind that she's obviously a little older here. Any differences to Robin's "canon" personality can also be partly blamed on her influence and plot differences. This IS a crossover, after all.
> 
> I'm saying it right now: in the game, Robin's mother, who is only mentioned in about two sentences, is the definition of "Unsung Hero". FE fans, just give it a think! I hate how little emphasis they put on her importance.
> 
> I'mma fix dat!
> 
> SPOILER-FREE COMMENTS AND REVIEWS, PLEASE!!
> 
> Remember that "generic gibberish" Chrom heard Robin mumbling at the Longfort two chapters back? Yeah, that was Chon'sin. I'm sorting languages like this for the countries mentioned so far:
> 
> Continent of Ylisse:
> 
> Halidom of Ylisse - English
> 
> Regna Ferox - Undefined. Although, the title 'khan' belongs to officials in Central Asia, Afghanistan and certain other Muslim countries, as well as the successors of Genghis Khan, supreme rulers of the Turkish, Tartar and Mongol peoples and also emperors of China during the Middle Ages. I'll leave that to however you want to interpret it.  
> I do have a language in mind, but it's so far ahead in the story that I have no idea if it'll even come up.
> 
> Theocracy of Plegia - Undefined, but the design of the eyes on the brand and the markings on Robin's cloak implies Ancient Egyptian-like culture. Not to mention that the country is mostly desert. Once again, interpretation's entirely up to you.
> 
> Continent of Valm:
> 
> Chon'sin - Japanese. Seriously, it's so heavily implied in game. Just so you know, I'll be using Hoshidan (FE Fates) classes for the characters. (And none of that "Chon'sinese"/"Chon'sinian" business with me! The line "Chon'sin dynasts" is said in-game.)
> 
> The last two, Valm and Rosanne (probably the most obvious, anyway), I'll reveal when they come into play, one sooner than in canon.


	9. Squirm

Wyverns were fearsome creatures, beyond comparison to pegasi. Unlike dragons, from what Robin understood, they only possessed four limbs; two clawed wings and two broad, muscular legs. Their black reptilian scales were resilient against physical attacks, though not impenetrable, and their curved ivory claws could puncture most chain mail. The bony ebon plating running along their spine started at their pointed, angular muzzle and ended at their horned tail. The underside of their body and leathery wings was paler than the rest of their scales. A weak spot, as it were.

However, they were just as vulnerable to Wind magic as any other flying mount, and unlike pegasi, were extremely vulnerable to all magical attacks. In other words, Miriel, Ricken, and Robin were having their energy drained by constant spell casting, whereas the others focused on defending their retreat from the remaining wyvern riders that got too close and defending the mages from foot soldiers.

"Elwind!"

"Elfire!"

"Wind!"

The three mages cried in succession, joining the pegasus knights above with their chants. A couple of the elite had already needed to retreat, being healed by their comrades' staves before returning to battle. Robin had to admit, he was impressed by how effective their simple formation was. The front line was held by the strongest of the falcon knights, who at that moment concentrated solely on offence, whereas the back line was occupied by the other women who concentrated on healing their comrades, but were also far from defenceless. Slowly but surely, the Plegian army was losing ground.

A wyvern rider approached Robin as he switched from his sword to his tome, before he was taken out by Ricken's Elwind. The tactician was fighting alongside him and Maribelle. Unfortunately, staves were unable to replenish the mana he'd lost, and it was taking its toll on his physicality, as well. The fact that Ricken still had a decent amount of mana left was astounding, especially considering that Miriel had already praised Robin for his abilities.  
  
"Ricken! Behind you!" Maribelle screamed as the mage turned to grin at them. The boy whirled around just in time to cast an incomplete Elwind spell at the axeman approaching, and Robin finished off their opponent with a burst of Thunder.

The young boy immediately tore his eyes away from the man flailing with electrocution, and hastily apologised to Robin, "Sorry! It won't happen again!"

"Don't get distracted! Focus!" Robin growled at the boy, before he realised he had been a little harsh. The exhaustion creeping in was making him snappy, he realised, but there was no way to remedy that other than finishing the battle quickly.

"Robin!" He looked up to see Sumia swooping down above them. "The Plegian general has fallen!"

The chain of command had been broken then. Good, and in the nick of time. "Full retreat!" he ordered, to which she saluted and spurred her mount to inform the others.

He faced his two companions. "Ricken, get on behind Maribelle!"

"R-right!"

As the young woman helped the mage up onto the mare she had been supplied with, she shot Robin a worried glance, but quickly looked away.

"I'll go on foot," the tactician replied, not bothering to listen for a reply as he hurried towards the others. There were no more Plegian soldiers separating them from the main party, their location marked by Sumia's mount hovering just above them. A clear sprint would reunite them.

...Or so he'd thought.

A red flash, and Robin could no longer feel his right arm. Another, and the his lower abdomen was pierced with such force that he slammed into the rocky ground.

That was when the pain hit him, raw agony like fire raging through his gut and abdomen and chest and shoulder, scorching his flesh and bones beyond his regenerative abilities. His head spun from having hit the stony terrain, and he cried in torment, feeling his left eye change into the kakugan and shutting it tightly, only opening his right one by a fraction to see what was doing this to him.

A thick, steely, narrow coil was sticking out of his stomach, having pierced him from somewhere above. It was rock solid, yet still flexible, and had the same carmine shade as Robin's rinkaku, but lacked its rough scales.

Another kagune. A ghoul was doing this to him.

A koukaku-user. That kagune was difficult to wield and the heaviest type of claw. It exited just below the shoulder blades and was at a disadvantage to the rinkaku's brute strength, Robin's type being the only one powerful enough to break through a koukaku's sturdiness. Their main focus was defence, but some had offensive forms like hammers or coils, which could be wrapped around an experienced wielder's arm.

A cry of anguish he had never thought himself capable of tore from his throat when the claw began to twist and writhe around his organs, slicing them up and leaving them only barely whole, internal bleeding beginning to pressurise his untouched heart and lungs. Robin tasted the delicious blood in his mouth, only to realise that he was choking, and that the blood was his own. The kagune continued to rampage around his innards, mindlessly and mercilessly scrambling them into a bloody, visceral mess, building up inside his torso and filling the space like a python in a narrow tree trunk. All Robin could do was flail in pain and futilely try to escape the koukaku's movements, when it was already buried deep inside him.

He realised with horror that his own kagune was escaping the kakuhou, bulging the skin of his back and only adding to his agony as it fought against his will, only listening to his pain and seeking retaliation. Gods, it was going to burst out! They would see!

It suddenly stopped. More pain at his lower back accompanied the disappearance of activity, and Robin wasn't sure whether to be relieved or terrified. He could do nothing against his assaulter. He could nothing but scream and flail and cry, all in vain. He would suffer through this alone. No one would be able to help him.

After all, they were just human. So, so weak.

Finally, after what felt like hours of what had probably only been seconds of pure, unrestricted, unimaginable agony did he hear Maribelle scream in horror. It sounded as though he was hearing it through water. With his one open eye, he watched as the tip of the kagune exited just below his lungs, coated in his blood and tissue, piercing through the end of his breastbone for good measure. As he made to grab the sharpest point of the kagune with a trembling left hand, finding himself unable to use his right, the claw recoiled, cutting and shifting everything as it did again and bursting back out of his stomach, returning to its owner.

"Good gods!" A pink and blonde silhouette lowered itself into his blurred, weak vision, revealing itself to be Maribelle with a nauseated, shell-shocked expression. He felt repetitive tapping on his cheek, and only then realised his eyes had briefly fallen shut. He felt so tired all of a sudden, it was a struggle to stay awake.

He forced his eyelids apart and willed himself to look up. The ghoul who had injured him was still there, silhouetted against the sun, facial features shrouded in darkness under a hooded cloak. He was male, that much Robin could tell, but no more as the ghoul released a final mad cackle and leapt out of sight.

"Your Grace! Rob...! I...know--"

He heard a gasp, in a voice he recognised, but couldn't place with his mind muddled as it was. Wait, what had Ricken just said?

'Your Grace'?

Exalt Emmeryn was saying something, but he could only understand random vowels and consonants, no words or sentences registering in his mind. She was giving out orders, he believed, but that wasn't important.

Why was she here? She was meant to escape, wasn't she?

He felt her slapping his cheek, Maribelle having stopped, and pinched it so that he opened his eyes again. She hadn't needed to, given the sudden pain, almost as bad as when he had had his innards scrambled, that flared at his right shoulder, eliciting a gasp from him.

Exalt Emmeryn was saying something to him, but he could barely hear her muffled words as his heavy eyelids closed. Sleep just felt too enticing at that moment, but concern kept him awake a little longer. A ghoul was about, and the exalt was in even more danger than before. She couldn't stay! She had to escape!

"Lady Emmeryn... Run..." he managed to whisper hoarsely.

Before all faded to welcoming, abyssal black.

* * *

A scream of agony echoed across the mountain range, reaching even Emmeryn and Phila's ears despite the deafening wind. The exalt turned to the source of the sound, a feeling of dread settling in her gut as she recognised the voice. Phila slowed her alicorn to a hover, also turning and seemingly debating their course of action.

"We can't turn back, Your Grace," she said, as though reading Emmeryn's mind. "It's too dangerous."

"I am well aware of the risk," stated the exalt, "but I cannot simply ignore this in good conscience. I won't allow anyone to die when I can still act. I'm not helpless, Phila."

The falcon knight sighed wearily, and pulled the reigns as her mount galloped back to the battlefield. "I know full well of your experience with magic, Your Grace. But I swear, Lady Lissa's stubbornness is rubbing of on you," she muttered, spurring her alicorn to fly faster.

When they arrived, the Shepherds had halted their retreat, most of them engaging the enemy in defence. Further back from the battlefront, Maribelle, Ricken, and Lissa, all frantic, were leaning over someone who had collapsed, a dark carmine puddle rapidly spreading around them from the person in the Grimleal cloak.

"Gods!" she heard Phila exclaim, directing her mount into a sharp stooping dive until they touched down. Emmeryn didn't hesitate to jump off before they had completely come to a stop, hurrying to Lissa and Maribelle's sides as the former tried to heal some his internal damage, but only with a weak Heal staff, and the latter struggled to keep Robin conscious.

Ricken, who had seemed confused as to what he could do, looked up when he heard flapping, and gasped somewhere between surprise and relief, face pale. "Your Grace! Robin is--! I don't even know what happened!" he blurted, just as Emmeryn, too, drew in a breath at the horrific sight of Robin's injuries.

He had a relatively small stab wound in his lower abdomen, and a larger, messier one in the middle of his torso. Entry and exit points, Emmeryn noted clinically, feeling her own stomach clench and twist. Externally, his arm was the worst sight; it hung from his shoulder by nothing but a few muscle fibres, the severed arteries releasing powerful bursts of blood onto the ground below them.

"Lissa, splint his arm. Maribelle, help me with his torso! Phila, help Lissa! Ricken, return to battle!" she ordered, the others immediately moving to carry out their tasks, the Mage the most reluctant to do so.

"Here, Your Grace!" Phila passed the exalt a Mend staff. It was a silver rod with two petal-like ornaments curling from the end and supporting the azure blue orb. It possessed double the power of a Heal staff, but was naturally more difficult to wield. Given that a staff's power was relative to the user's amount of mana, Emmeryn, with her large surplus of magical energy, could wield any staff to its greatest potential.

She slapped Robin cheek, which was now an ashen grey, earning no immediate reaction. She pinched him, just as Phila and Lissa began to stem the bleeding and splint his arm, making him gasp awake at the sudden influx of pain. He was too weak to even scream.

"Robin, listen to me! Don't fall asleep, or you may never wake up!" she commanded with a raised voice, but the words clearly weren't getting through to him as he looked around with confusion and fatigue, eyes glazed over and unfocused, fluttering dangerously.

The exalt concentrated on her mana, allowing it to flow to the orb of her staff, lighting it, and into him as she examined his internal injuries.

She had thought she was prepared, but she almost broke her concentration at the alarms her staff was sending her. The inside muscle of his torso and all his organs save for his heart and lungs were heavily damaged, some of them lacerated beyond recognition. Internal bleeding was following the injuries, placing pressure on his vitals. Emmeryn found this odd. Even if the injuries had been inflicted by a kagune, they should at least show signs of healing.

Then she found his kakuhou, equally damaged as the rest of his organs. He couldn't regenerate as he should have, though the sac's placement suggested him to be a rinkaku, because his kakuhou was unable to function. As of that moment, his body's regenerative abilities were more or less equal to those of a human, something it had never experienced before.

As she began healing his internal wounds, a weak, slurred whisper reached her ears. "Emerina-sama..." The exalt's eyes widened. "Nigetekudasai..."

Robin had spoken in Chon'sin, she realised. Even her name had been pronounced a little differently, and his tone of voice and accent had changed completely as he spoke in his mother tongue, probably subconsciously.

Emmeryn belatedly realised what that meant, and reacted too late to try and wake him again. By the time she looked up at his face, he was out cold, eyes closed and expression slack.

* * *

The royal infirmary in Castle Ylisstol was not quite as elaborate as the rest of the building. There were no tapestries or statues, and the only thing leaning against a wall was the rack of staves, not holy weapons of old. There were no scented candles around, only the smell of disinfectant, concoctions, and other strong potions filling the room with a pungent odour. Out of consideration for the ghoul occupant's sensitive nose, Emmeryn had tried her hardest to open the windows and let the smell out of the room. The only used bed, out of the two dozen in the hall, was Robin's, and with good reason.

From what she had gathered from Ricken's disordered descriptions, the ghoul who had attacked Robin had to have been S-rated Twister. A well-named ghoul with a large variety of victims, he had been quite active during the last war, but hadn't made any noteworthy appearance until recently. The Gourmet had taken over since, though his hunting patterns had changed, according to the data Miriel had gathered. Perhaps the aforementioned ghoul only made himself known during times of war, when he had durable victims for his signature attack.

Unfortunately, Twister had made himself quite known to the Shepherds, and above all Robin.

The ghoul's entire torso was heavily bandaged, and his right arm in a sling. Since the battle at the Border Pass, he had only had very brief moments of sentience, but the exalt doubted he would even have any recollection of them. He had hardly been conscious enough to form a coherent sentence. Even if it might have been Chon'sin, it had all been too slurred to be comprehensible in any language.

Unfortunately, the Shepherds had hardly returned to Ylisstol, with thankfully minimal casualties after their tactician had been downed, before a call for help had reached them from the Farfort. The Farfort had originally been a war outpost on a southeastern island just off the coast of Ylisse, but it had been built upon extremely fertile land. After the war it had been intended for had ended, villagers had settled there and made it their own. Apparently, it had been attacked by brigands, perhaps some of King Gangrel's men who had decided to run rampage with their task completed.

War had officially begun, and Enmeryn was just glad she had been able to use her meagre free time, between council meetings and paperwork, to stay at Robin's bedside for when he awoke. He would doubtlessly prefer to have someone he was at least somewhat familiar with near him rather than a random member of the clergy.

As she filled out some work she couldn't postpone on the bedside table, a small wheeze caught her attention. She shot straight, watching as Robin scrunched his face in discomfort and groaned, groggily blinking himself awake.

"...N-nani...? Doushite?!" he near-screamed, eyes wild as he looked around frantically. He paled, his breathing quickening to a dangerously ragged pace, trembling and sweat already building at his brow.

Emmeryn acted on her training, leaning into his line of sight and slapping his cheek to bring him to complete lucidity. "Robin, listen! You're okay." He showed no signs of calming or even having heard her in his panic. She shook him gently, and raised her voice. "Robin! Calm down, you're alright! You're safe!"

Robin's silver eyes met hers, the left one a little bloodshot and the iris a reddened hue--the beginning of the kakugan forming--and he froze. He stared at her as his vision seemed to clear, taking in every detail of her face. He was still tense, and shifted his right arm a little, only to hiss in pain and clutch his injured shoulder, curling a bit into a foetal position with his teeth practically grinding together.

"Don't move too much," the exalt scolded. "You'll only aggravate your injuries." She touched his healthy shoulder both sternly and comfortingly, and he relaxed a little.

"...Where...how...?" Robin struggled with the words, voice painfully hoarse. He spoke in Ylissean this time. Given that Chrom hadn't mentioned him speaking a foreign language when he had been found, perhaps he adapted to the language someone approached him with, except when he was only half-sentient. He didn't seem to notice this.

Emmeryn smiled kindly to him. "You're in Ylisstol Castle."

"...H-how long...?"

Instead of answering immediately, Emmeryn reached to the small table beside the bed, and poured water from the carafe into the glass beside it. She then carefully held it to his mouth. He frowned in discomfort when the water hit the back of his parched throat, then relaxed, seemingly melting into the mattress as he drank every drop like a neglected child. She felt a small sense of relief as she prayed she was doing the right thing in giving a ghoul water. After she had refilled the glass and held to his lips, she spoke as he drank obediently, no longer showing signs of discomfort,

"You've been here for two days. You experienced less blood loss than I would have expected, but it is still a miracle that you survived with such damage, Robin." She explained, taking the empty glass away from his mouth.

Robin cleared his throat before speaking in a much softer, less raspy tone. "How bad were they?"

Emmeryn tensed as she remembered the state he had been in before she had just managed to stabilise him. Although his most important vitals, the heart and lungs, had remained untouched, internal bleeding and the pressure it would have caused could have very easily killed him. Not to mention how much more difficult it was to heal organs as opposed to flesh.

She forcefully snapped herself out of the memory and, as calmly as she could muster, answered his question,

"...They were grievous. Most of your organs were badly lacerated, so I focused on treating them and mostly neglected your arm. Speaking of..."

She stood up and grabbed another Mend staff from the rack. She made her way back to Robin's bed and healed a little more of the visceral damage, but not the flesh wounds yet. Robin relaxed a little when she was done, the pain having become more bearable.

"Why don't you heal it all right now, Your Grace?" he asked, eying the staff as she replaced it in its hook.

"Accelerated healing can only do so much, and organs are especially difficult to treat," she replied with a smile, before she took on a more stern tone. "You need to recover from the blood loss, and the best way to do that is eat, drink, and rest well."

His eyes widened, and he looked around frantically. "Wait, where are the others?" he asked, almost sitting up if not for his painful torso.

She placed a calming hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him further down as she did. "Don't worry, they're alright. While you were out, they left on a mission to the far east of Ylisse. I'm afraid you may not see them for a few days."

She looked him almost pitifully. He had been so panicked when he had first awoken, and she could guess why. He had suddenly found himself in a new place, with no memory of how he got there and barely aware of his surroundings in his semi-conscious state. He, even if only subconsciously, had feared he had forgotten. Perhaps one of his greater fears was just that; forgetting his short life up until then.

She realised he was attached to the Shepherds, them being the first people he could remember. To lose on of them would be just as bad as losing his memory, no doubt.

"Thank you, Your Grace," she heard him say, before he closed his eyes to get some rest.

The exalt smiled, even though he wouldn't see it. "Call me Emmeryn."

The next day, the exalt returned to his bedside with a special something tucked among her things. Before she could enter, however, a member of the clergy exited the infirmary. She had sandy blonde hair flowing just past her shoulders with a few shorter strands falling into her face, and a thin plait on each side of her head weaving into each other at the back. Her jade green eyes were quite similar to Emmeryn's own; peaceful and serene. Despite this, she stood a full head taller than the exalt, and also had broader shoulders and an angular jaw, but was nonetheless a pretty woman.

She bowed lowly when Emmeryn approached, despite her broad golden chest plate and vambraces showing her decent rank within the clergy--a war cleric as opposed to just a cleric like Lissa. Although, her thick ivory robes hid all of her figure, and she wasn't wearing a skirt of any sort, but trousers and boots. Emmeryn hadn't seen the latter on a war cleric before. Perhaps the woman was just being especially conservative.

"Your Grace," she greeted, her voice a little deeper than the exalt had expected, but nonetheless fitting. "Robin is awake, and I've treated his injuries for the day."

Ah, Emmeryn recognised her now. She was from the Cathedral of Naga, the centre of the devotees to the divine dragon. That explained her presence here, at least. They must have called her to assist in the tactician's treatment. Although, she had been informed of this.

"Thank you very much," the exalt replied, about to reach for the door, when the woman's voice reached her ears.

"I attempted to make small talk with him, and asked about how he had been these last couple of years, but he didn't give me a straight answer. He tried to change the subject, instead. Would you happen to know what that could be related to, Your Grace?"

She faced the woman, who wore an expression of concern. Of course she would worry about something like this, though perhaps a little more than was necessary. Regardless, Emmeryn told her about his memory loss, to which her face clouded with even more anxiety. And hurt.

"...I suggest you keep a close eye on his approach to this problem, Your Grace," she advised after a moment of silence. "As I said, he attempted to dodge the subject. I let him, but perhaps it would be wise that you do not."

Emmeryn nodded. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

The war cleric bowed. "By your leave, Your Grace," she said, before heading down the hall.

So, Robin was insecure about this, Emmeryn noted sadly. And she reinforced her thoughts from the travel to the border; only she could fix this. With renewed resolve, the package firm in hand, she opened the door, the echoing creaks announcing her presence to the single occupant

Robin was lying in his bed, as he should, simply looking out of one of the windows at the sky. He seemed like the picture of boredom and listlessness, eyes tired, before his attention moved to the exalt. He nodded to her in imitation of a bow, and she sat down in the chair beside his bed.

She noted that on the table beside him there was a plate of food, only a minimal amount of it eaten. Had he forced it down to keep his identity a secret? It would certainly not help him recover if he poisoned himself, but if he was that desperate...

Perhaps it was a good thing Emmeryn had avoided treating his kakuhou beyond stabilising its condition. This meant that all of Robin's other injuries would continue to heal at a human rate, concealing his abilities, and that he would continue to believe she knew nothing about him being a ghoul.

Although, shouldn't that cleric have told her about how little had been eaten? Perhaps Robin had made up some excuse. Now Emmeryn began to feel a little ashamed--the woman had seemed like a lovely person, as one of religion should be, and the exalt hadn't even asked her name.

It didn't matter at that moment, though. Seeing as Robin wouldn't immediately speak to her beyond the obligatory greeting--during which he refrained from using her title--, she decided to get straight to the point.

"I've brought something for you," Emmeryn said, handing him the object in question.

It was a book, the front cover of which was on the right side. It was bound in creamy yellow with a burgundy spine, slightly disturbing abstract red shapes, as though they had been smeared by a child's fingers, forming the background of the front cover. The bottom third of it was also burgundy in colour, and held additional writing. The title of the book and the author's name were written vertically with complex symbols completely foreign to Ylisseans.

"I'd like to see if you can read this," she stated simply, watching him study the book curiously from all angles, then settle on the front cover again. He frowned, scrutinising each symbol, before he lowered it onto his chest.

Eventually, he mumbled, "...I... I don't even know where to start."

"I can help you with that," Emmeryn reassured, much to his surprise, "but I'm afraid I only know a single symbol." She pointed to the second last one in the title of the book, which looked like a swirl. "This is read 'no', I believe."

"'No', 'no'..." he repeated, seemingly clinging to the single syllable like a lifeline. His finger dragged down to the next one, ever so slowly. "No... Tamago..." His eyes flicked up to the top, and he read the entire vertical title. "Kuro Yagi no Tamago..." A grin formed on his face, and a small, ecstatic giggle escaped him as he repeated the name of the book again and again, then the name of the author. "Taka... Takatsuki Sen!"

Emmeryn smiled at him. "Can you translate it?"

"The Black Goat's Egg, by Sen Takatsuki," Robin replied swiftly, almost cutting her off. She recoiled a little at his hurry, but his beaming grin was contagious.

"This book is written in Chon'sin. The author is apparently quite renowned for her horror stories, so much so that I've seen official translations of her works in the royal library. This one is her seventh, I believe," Emmeryn explained.

"It says as much here..." The tactician pointed to the additional text at the bottom of the front cover, before the implications of this caught up to him. "Wait, so I'm Chon'sin?!" Robin asked loudly, mumbling out a small apology for the volume as the exalt answered calmly.

"Well, considering you can read something like this, and that your features match those of Chon'sin people, I should think so!"

To her surprise, he deflated, and his gaze flicked to his cloak hanging over the back of the chair she sat on. "Then, where did that come from?"

She already had an answer prepared for that. "Well, I should probably correct myself." He looked at her questioningly, and she continued, "Your Chon'sin features aren't as prominent as, say, Lon'qu's. Therefore, I think that perhaps you are of mixed race."

"Half Plegian, half Chon'sin, huh?" he muttered, looking up at the ceiling. "But still Plegian..."

"I'd say you're predominantly Chon'sin in upbringing, given that you've spoken the language when you weren't quite conscious," Emmeryn continued, trying to lighten his mood.

Robin frowned. "I... What?"

The exalt let a small laugh escape at his confusion. "You didn't even realise? I'm talking about just before you blacked out, and when you first awoke here."

He seemed to mull over her words for a moment. "Huh. I guess I did, didn't I? So, Chon'sin is my mother tongue..."

After a moment, a broad grin overtook his face, and breathless chuckle bubbled forth, soon turning into ecstatic, joyous, full-blown laughter. Tears of relief and happiness were streaming from his eyes, spilling down his cheeks as he cried. And why wouldn't he? He finally had some shred of knowledge about is family and origin, something he had been distressed about since Chrom had first found him.

Gods, just how much did he keep bottled in?

Emmeryn wished there was more she could do, more she could tell him. She truly did. However, telling him much more would be risking a relapse. All things considered--his amnesia, his former emotionlessness, and above all the absence of a father that day--it was probably for the best that she made sure he was prepared for the revelation of what she knew, and any possible effects it would have on his current self.

Having already been shocked at the current news, she decided he had had enough knowledge for a while. It would be best to let him settle. Now wasn't the time to tell him the rest.

* * *

After lying down waiting for his injuries to heal, Robin had begun to realise that they wouldn't. Or at least, not as quickly as he'd expected. He couldn't feel his kakuhou, nor his kagune inside. It was that which normally allowed his regeneration, and since it was apparently damaged, he would have to wait for it to heal at a human rate. Emmeryn hadn't healed it, so he assumed--or rather, prayed--she hadn't noticed the organ that would be foreign in a human body.

Robin enjoyed her visits not only for the treatment. With him bedridden and unable to do much else other than read for most of the week, they were all he looked forward to. He had felt like a nuisance at first, jeopardising what little free time the exalt had without giving her something in return, but she had reassured him he was no such burden. She provided him with more books, though The Black Goat's Egg remained by far his favourite, and also played chess--the dovelike exalt made for a surprisingly good opponent--or simply chatted with him. She was in charge of his healing, so she had every right to spend time with him.

They shared many opinions. They both believed in peace and in the same means to achieve it, even if sacrifices were required. Robin hadn't expected such words from her, nor that they would strike a chord in him. They both wished for Ylisse to remain peaceful, no matter the cost to themselves. Their ideals were the same.

And although she didn't seem like much of a bookworm, Emmeryn was also well-versed in literature, much to Robin's pleasure. They often discussed their views on the books he'd read, and recommended some to each other, though Robin was heavily lacking in input on the last matter. Whichever books Emmeryn gave the tactician she said he could keep. He had been reluctant at first, but the offer had ultimately been too great to turn down. Now his bedside table was barely visible beneath stacks of them, with plenty strewn all over the floor, too.

His injuries had also finally been deemed stable enough to allow him to sit up, so long as he didn't strain himself. He had also walked around a bit when Emmeryn had allowed him to, exploring bits of the castle. Although he had never strayed far from her, lest he get lost. Most of the time he spent reading and rereading The Black Goat's Egg.

Takatsuki's writing seemed to have never so much as heard of 'happy endings'. The story was rich in complicated words, vivid descriptions, subtle hints to deeper meanings one could only catch a second time, and unexpected twists, all with a delicate, poetic writing style few modern authors could hope to match. However, there was an ever-present feeling in her works, as though she truly saw no hope in the world, as if she'd given up on it entirely. It was depressing. Sen Takatsuki never spoke of hope.

Even so, Robin found himself unable to stop reading The Black Goat's Egg. The protagonist was a boy whose mother was a notorious serial killer known as the 'Black Goat', hence the title being 'Egg' of the Black Goat. He was disgusted by his mother's sadistic obsession, despising her for it. The book detailed his slow spiral downwards as he realised those same sadistic tendencies were gradually manifesting in himself.

"The story of the second Black Goat hatching," he'd once said to Emmeryn.

He was so engrossed in the book that he hadn't noticed anyone come in, nor sit down beside and on the bed, nor having been trying to catch his attention for the last minute. That is, until a grey-gloved hand took the book from his grasp and laid it flat on the table beside them.

"Hey!" Robin exclaimed angrily, but that quickly dissipated as he met Chrom and Lissa's sapphire blue and washed-out green eyes.

"Well, nice to see you again!" Lissa frowned, and gave him a quick whack upside the head. "You nearly gave us a heart attack!"

"It's not like I could do anything about that, Lissa," Robin retorted, rubbing the back of his head with his uninjured arm. "I was kinda knocked out."

Chrom chuckled, but it seemed forced. Robin shot him a look.

"What's wrong?" he asked, to which the prince sighed.

"We lost. Gangrel has his war," he stated grimly. Robin winced when Chrom met his gaze, resembling a guilty dog awaiting a beating. "I've been thinking about this ever since, and really, this isn't a war meant for you to fight. You don't have anything to do with this."

Robin frowned in confusion. "Of course I'm involved in this. I'm your tactician!"

Lissa groaned, shuffling further up the bed and perching beside him. "What my brother MEANS to say...is that you don't deserve to be a part of this. You don't remember what's happened or how it affected Ylisse. You're completely innocent, but we still dragged you into this."

All Robin could manage was a small, "Oh..."

Chrom hummed in agreement, meeting Robin's gaze. "We just wanted to express our regrets about this, and that we are truly sorry." He lowered his head into his hands. "Gods, if only I hadn't acted to rashly! Maybe we wouldn't be in this."

Robin shifted to place more weight on his left side and face the prince, placing a hand on his knee. Chrom looked at his tactician, who smiled and spoke solemnly, "Maybe things COULD have turned out differently, but that doesn't mean that they WOULD have. It's not your fault, Chrom. All we can do now is hope for the best."

"But the fact that we dragged you into this still stands..." Lissa mumbled.

"No, it doesn't," the boy retorted. "I CHOSE to join you, remember? You gave me a choice, and I said yes. And besides, I have nowhere else to be right now. In fact, I'm not exaggerating when I say I probably owe you my life. My life and everything I have. I am greatly in your debt." He looked Chrom, who had regained his composure, in the eye, and shot him a sincere smile. "So where you go, I go."

It took a moment, but eventually, both Chrom and Lissa matched Robin's small, grateful smile.

"Thanks," the prince said sincerely, prompting his sister to also thank the tactician. "That lifts quite a weight off my chest."

"On a lighter note," Lissa piped in, "Emm said your mother tongue is Chon'sin!"

"Mmm-hmm! I can read this," Robin replied, reaching for the novel Chrom had taken from him.

"You can read...that?" Lissa asked incredulously, gesturing to the vertical kana titling the book. Robin replied in affirmative, prompting a jealous pout from her. "That's so cool. What does it say?"

"The Black Goat's Egg."

She scrunched up her face. "That sentence makes NO sense!"

"It does when you've read a bit."

"How do you say it in Chon'sin?" Chrom asked.

"Kuro Yagi no Tamago," Robin said, accentuating each syllable clearly.

"Coolou Yahgee no Thingy?" Lissa tried, and Chrom snorted in laughter at her poor attempt. "Hey! You try, then!"

"Oh, um! No thanks!" Chrom blurted.

"Chicken!" she accused.

"Am not!"

Robin couldn't help but laugh at the two as they also tapered into giggles, until one particularly strong convulsion made Robin wheeze in pain and grasp his side. The two royals immediately sobered up, Lissa being the fussiest of the two as she asked if he was alright.

"I'm fine," Robin reassured. "Just hurts a bit to laugh."

"Sorry about that," Chrom apologised. "But regardless, maybe this means you're going to be the one to make Lon'qu open up a bit."

Robin hummed disappointedly. "Is he really that antisocial?"

"He could wear an iron helmet and you wouldn't know the difference," Lissa provided. "He never talks to anyone. Just stands in a corner looking all gloomy and mean."

Robin frowned. "I see."

"Our newest recruit is pretty much Lon'qu's polar opposite," Chrom added, then elaborated. "One of the villagers of the Farfort decided to join the Shepherds. His name's Donnel."

"Yeah, he's strange, but pretty funny." Lissa giggled and cleared her throat. "'Please, Your Princeliness, let me help y'all!'"

"He sounds like that?" Robin questioned, almost cringing at the thick country accent.

"Mmm-hmm! And he's given us worse titles than that!" Lissa said.

Her brother stood up from the chair, brushing himself off before looking at the two apologetically.

"I must take my leave now, I'm afraid. I have a war council to attend," Chrom excused himself, then headed for the door.

"See ya later!" Lissa waved to him as he left.

"Bye, Chrom," Robin said with a smile.

* * *

The war council mainly consisted of dukes and elders who had earned their place there. Emmeryn sat at the head of the table, Chrom to her right as crown prince, and Phila to her left as her personal retainer and captain of the pegasus knights. So far, Chrom was far from enjoying the meeting. Of course, he never did enjoy them and only attended because his duty required him to--he would have gladly left to rejoin Lissa and Robin if he could, or even engage in a sparring match with Vaike or Sully. Anything but...this.

Unfortunately, with war now at their borders, he simply had no choice but to listen to the endless blabbering of the council members.

Everyone quieted when Emm stood, and she waited until the were ready before she spoke remorsefully.

"To start this meeting, I must make an announcement," she said, her strong voice carrying throughout the large hall they were in. "Unfortunately, as much as I've tried to prevent it, we, the Halidom of Ylisse, are now at war with the Theocracy of Plegia."

A few anxious murmurs passed through the younger members of the council, and she continued,

"As many of you know, other than the pegasus knights, we do not have a strong army or fortified after the last war. As such, I implore your cooperation among your respective territories and that you be prepared to sacrifice your resources if need be. I also wish for suggestions to be made on the matter of how we shall fortify our borders. I intend for us to act in defence for as long as possible."

She sat down again, awaiting suggestions from the members present.

Phila stood up next, presenting herself before she added her input.

"I suggest that the pegasus knights man the Plegia-Ylisse border in addition to tighter patrols. I also suggest that we use our newly forged alliance with Regna Ferox to request the additional forces we lack."

"You can leave that to the Shepherds," Chrom added in, to which the falcon knight nodded in gratitude.

As Phila sat back down, the other council members nodded in agreement, but were clearly reluctant to leave this matter up to the prince. It was an improvement from the last meeting, where they had at first outright rejected the idea of sending a ragtag band of unprofessional soldiers to Ferox, but the Shepherds' success had clearly spoken for them.

Some more dukes and duchesses stood up one by one, giving their input on the situation at hand. However, few of their statements were strongly related to the safety of the people or warfare. Rather, they were concerned for their own agendas and houses. How much funding would they need to offer for the war? What of their estates? Would their second borns be required to aid in the war effort?

They drove Chrom mad. He was the prince of Ylisse, but the last thing he was concerned about was his status. Heck, he insisted that others should not use his title! He gave his all for the protection of Ylissean lives--Shepherds to watch over the sheep--, which in some ways downgraded him from his station. And he didn't give a damn about it.

When a middle-aged lord asked about his family's protection, Chrom reached his breaking point. He stood up abruptly and slammed his hands onto the table surface, instantly gaining their startled attention.

"Do you even hear yourselves?!" he roared, feeling his face contort in anger and hearing his sister gasp in shock. "We are on the brink of war--hell, we've already tipped over the edge! The last thing we need right now is for you to care only for your families' wealth and status! A land of barbarians and their a bloodthirsty king are threatening the people of Ylisse, so we, as their rulers, have a duty to protect them. And we. Must. ACT!"

He punctuated his final word by punched the table, so hard that he felt pins and needles stinging the side of his hand. A stunned silence followed his rant, one so thick is was almost tangible, and he slowly felt himself unwind under Emmeryn's soothing caresses of his arm, his clenched fist loosening a little. But it did nothing to calm his boiling rage, and even with the judgemental stares directed at him, he felt no shame for his justified ire. For the few stunned, wide-eyes gazes he'd earned from the younger members, he felt grim satisfaction, and those among the egocentric members who still dared show disdain at his reaction were the first to be met with a seething glare.  
  
Only when the silence began to stretch out did he begin to feel shame creeping in. He lowered his head and breathed out shakily, feeling his composure crumble as the reality of his situation bore itself to him. He'd lost control, and in front of the entire assembly of council members. He'd snapped and yelled at some of his heat ranked lords and ladies in the halidom.

"...If you'll excuse me," he mumbled out, and took large strides to the grand doors.

One elder's words made him freeze. "You're father said the same thing, Prince Chrom. He also called Plegia 'a land of barbarians'."

Chrom closed his eyes, feeling his breathing increase in speed again. He slammed the door behind him. The sound echoed through the halls of Castle Ylisse.

* * *

_"...This isn't over! Damn you BOTH!"_

_The Shadow launches a ball of dark magic._

_Pain. Pain. Everything's a blur. ...Where am I? ...What's happening...?_

_Someone supports me. When did I end up on the ground?_

_"You alright?"_

_My head hurts._

_\--pulsation--_

_They are saying something._

_\--pulsation--_

_"Ha-- o--! ARGH!!"_

_A wicked smile deforms my face._

_Blank. A distant voice. The Light fades._

_Maniacal laughter reverberates in the dark, gothic halls. It's in my head. It's in my mind._

* * *

Robin's eyes snapped open as he awoke with a jolt. There was the feeling of sweat at his brow, chills running up his spine, his torso being healed a little more, and the sound of his heart racing in his ears. His first coherent thought was him realising how odd it was, considering that Emmeryn had already treated him that day. He looked at her, wide awake already after the shock he had just experienced. She shot him a sympathetic smile as she put her Mend staff down.

"Sorry to wake you," she said softly. The room was still dark--she hadn't lit any candles--so he couldn't quite see her properly. If not for the orb's light and her stench, he may have not recognised her. In a way, he was glad for the half light. Perhaps then she wouldn't notice the tears he was desperately trying to wipe away.

Once done, she rested the staff on the bed and reached a hand out to him. He took it and, as she pulled him up, she spoke sadly, "I have a favour to ask of you."

She gave him a summary of what had occurred during the war council, and Robin cringed at the events she told.

She said that she did not fear him becoming like the last exalt--gods knew how much Chrom resented his father--but she worried that he would damage his reputation, and hurt someone in the process. She didn't say it, but given that Chrom had called Plegia a 'land of barbarians', he knew that she was talking about him. Robin considered himself closest to the prince, as would be natural, given that he was the first person he'd ever remembered seeing and the one who had provided him with anything and everything.

With his eyes now adjusted to the halls lit by the dim moonlight, he saw how Emmeryn smiled at that. "Chrom is probably still closer to Vaike and Sully, but certainly understands your loyalty." She sighed, suddenly looking as tired as she really was, like the world was resting upon her shoulders. In a very literal sense, he corrected himself.

"But, considering that you're the most perceptive of the three, it's probably for the best you be the one to talk to him. I'm not asking you to calm him down, just... Lend him an ear, please," she asked of him as Robin stood from his bed, a bit wobbly on his feet, but that was more from disuse than injury. She helped him put on the vambraces to hide the mark on his hand, then tightened the sling holding his injured right arm in place.

"I'll talk to him," Robin affirmed, earning a pleased nod. He picked up his cloak slung over the back of the chair, sticking his left arm through and throwing the material over his left shoulder. It had been cleaned and repaired, and the calming female scent he had so liked was gone, replaced by that of soap, wood, and the disgusting tang of the exalt. He silently despaired as he turned and headed out of the infirmary, hearing a sad, knowing hum as he left.

"Thank you," Emmeryn whispered once the door was closed, but Robin still heard her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to update! I experienced a drop in motivation and then the WiFi started playing up, so this didn't come out as soon as I would've liked. However, I spent that time brainstorming and developing the future plot a little more, so it hasn't been lost.
> 
> On another matter, I can't make many literature references, having read only a few classics, and none in English except for Masque of the Red Death by Edgar-Allan Poe (Did I get those names right?), which may be useless here anyway. Mind you, I have read German classics in German, and Ishida seems to like them, if the quote by Hermann Hesse in part 5, "Hatchling", is any indication. So I'm saved. Ah, the pros of living in a non-English speaking country...
> 
> Japanese songs I can and will possibly do. I find they can be much more poetic than western music. There's more symbolism and they're often more abstract, which I love! I'll also probably make references to Tokyo Ghoul Trump and tarot cards while I'm at it!
> 
> I hope these italic scenes are vague, but still enjoyable enough to read. Just little hints here and there of a parallel story. I'm a little disappointed right now because I wrote an unedited draft of a possible paragraph that I thought was really good, but I decided to leave it for later in the story. It would be way too soon here.
> 
> The identities of the "Light" and the "Butterfly" are pretty obvious, even to non-FE fans. The "Shadow" only FE fans could know as of now, and "Hope" I wouldn't expect anyone to know at this point, especially since you don't know how some of the TG characters are going to be involved or where. I'm not at all ashamed to say I'm relatively proud of this idea and the names I've given the mystery characters (not necessarily the ones mentioned so far).
> 
> And lastly, for those that ever bother reading my long author's notes, I'd like to say that I'm getting the impression that people are losing interest in this fic. I really hope this isn't the case, and I'm just getting that feeling because there's less feedback now! I just don't want to sit here writing a fic that nobody's gonna read like some weeb. I put a lot of effort and even research (symbolism, psychology, and even psychiatry) into my writing. I'd just like my dear readers to know that.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! Love to see notifications for it and read reviews and comments! They make my day just as much as updates make yours!


	10. Against Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Butterfly struggles. 
> 
> The Light is anxious. 
> 
> The Sun is threatened. 
> 
> The Shadow closes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some headcanons going on in the intro to this chapter, but none that I haven't seen others assume before. According to the official manga, I think, Chrom was actually four years old when Emmeryn took the throne. 
> 
> Some of the lines are taken directly from the official manga for FE:A. You can view it on SerenesForest, but beware that Lucina's, Marth's, and Chrom's chapters contain massive spoilers! 
> 
> Do not read them if you are unfamiliar with this plot!! 
> 
> Good news here, too; a fan translation of the Fire Emblem Fates Drama CDs is currently being uploaded on YouTube! There are already some up for Fire Emblem: Awakening, but they'll RUIN your spoiler-free experience of this story! I'll let readers know which are safe to view as the story continues, but know that it will be a while yet. 
> 
> A HUGE thanks to my two best friends! Having studied the language, they could latinise the spell chants below. 
> 
> "O evil intentions, you shall burn in the fires of hell," and, "Holy breath." The last one, which I translated by looking up the origin of the word, is for "Vengeance".

_~~~~"Your father said the same thing."_

Chrom growled in frustration, still boiling in his rage in the nighttime courtyard of Castle Ylisse. The prince knew he had reacted brashly to their selfishness, but their reasoning had been far from righteous or even sound--their duty was to the people, not their own desires, especially in times of conflict! He also knew that his father had acted equally aggressively, though for different reasons. He had not needed that stabbing reminder.

Unlike his father, Chrom sought peace and justice. Apart from their blue hair and gift to wield the Falchion, they were nothing alike. Chrom had once condemned his hair colour, merely because it showed his heritage--not only that of the Hero-King, but that of the last exalt. Emmeryn and Lissa had their late mother's blonde hair, thank the gods. He could have bleached his to the same colour, but his equally sapphire blue eyes would have remained. Emm bore the Brand of the Exalt on her forehead, and he on the shoulder of his sword arm. Unlucky.

Lissa was the fortunate one. She was not the exalt, and had nothing to externally mark her linage. Just a little girl, who had only been a newborn during their father's reign of tyranny. She was innocent in every way.

_"Your father also called Plegia a 'land of barbarians'."_

How dare that man compare him to his father! He had said that in retaliation to Chrom's claim, true, but it had been a low blow. A scolding to a naughty child, an innocent child who bore the legacy of a criminal. In other people's eyes, one man's reputation would always reflect upon the heir, no matter their own efforts, and no matter how hard they fought against it.

Others would only ever associate Chrom's behaviour with his father's, no matter the context. The same, only worse, had once applied for Emm, too, but she had beaten it. Chrom was her brother. He had sworn to protect her. And yet she was always the one protecting him, protecting everyone. She was the strong one, not him.

"Chrom?" The older male jumped and turned, a hand instinctively moving to grasp the Falchion's hilt. He relaxed when he saw Robin, right arm in a sling and left raised in a show of surprised surrender, but otherwise standing upright. The prince could see bandages wrapped around his torso beneath his shirt, but the boy seemed alright. Emmeryn truly was a prodigal healer, despite originally having been a mage rather than a cleric like Lissa. Self defence had been the only reason.

He forced a smile. "Ah, it's good to see you're alright."

Robin tilted his head to one side innocently. Chrom had never considered himself good at reading others, but even he could see the sharp glint of intelligence and cunning in the tactician's eerie silver eyes. "What are you doing up so late?" asked the boy.

Of course, Emm had probably asked him to come, knowing her brother wouldn't want to face her yet. Robin already knew exactly what was wrong.

Chrom sighed, and turned away. "Just...duelling with some unpleasant thoughts..." He hesitated, before he decided to continue speaking. "Tomorrow we march to Regna Ferox to request additional soldiers, but there's something you should know first."

The prince realised it was selfish on his part, his wish to dump his knowledge on Robin's shoulders. But at the same time, as had been the case with the existence of ghouls, the tactician had the right to know. Even if Chrom weren't to tell him, he was certain Robin would just ask Emmeryn or Lissa. And whether to sate innocent curiosity or not, Chrom couldn't bear the thought of his sisters reliving these memories.

Especially Emm, who already bore a burden greater than anyone.

"...Not everything Gangrel said was a lie."

He waited for Robin to react, but the amnesiac remained silent. He heard Robin's slightly unsteady footsteps approach until he was just behind the prince.

"The last exalt, my father, waged war on Plegia for many years. A 'Holy War', he called it, one of many that have been raging between our nations for centuries. Since days of old." He paused. Robin listened silently. "It was a brutal campaign, ending only in his death fifteen years ago. Plegia rightfully remembers their suffering, but his war was no kinder to his own people."

Chrom's face contorted into one of remorse. "As the fighting dragged on, our army became more and more diminished. Farmers who could barely wield a pitchfork were conscripted and sent to their deaths. Soon there was no food at all, and the kingdom began to collapse. I was young, only four years old, but I remember those dark times." He took a shuddering breath. "...I know how they affected Emmeryn."

"Such an experience would change anyone," Robin murmured sadly.

Chrom gave a nondescript grunt. "Indeed. When our father died before her tenth year, he left her quite the legacy... Plegia's desire for vengeance... Our own people's unbridled rage..." He clenched his fists. "My sister became a target for blame from all sides. Her own subjects began to hurl insults--and stones. She still bears the scar from one... But she never let them see her pain. Only Lissa and I understood."

He remembered her lying in bed, exhausted and fatigued beyond belief, bandages wrapped around her head. Chrom remembered what he had said back then, and regretted it deeply until this day.

"Emm, you should stop appearing in public. It's dangerous."

"It's alright, Chrom," she'd said without looking at him, only at the ceiling. "Surely they will understand... It's just that... It will take a little time."

Back then, all the prince could remember feeling had been disdain and rage.

"What's peace, anyway? It's just empty words! What's real is that you've been hurt, can't you see that?!" he'd yelled, scaring poor Lissa, who had still been too young to understand the gravity of the situation. He had been, too.

"Chrom, one cannot let hatred rule their hearts. I must speak of hope! You see?" his sister had said with a small smile.

Only Emmeryn had ever been able to calm his rage. Only she had been able to guide him off the path so similar to the one his father had taken, so gently that he'd hardly even noticed.

He heard Robin's voice waver. "It must have been so hard..."

Chrom shook his head to clear the old images, and kicked a loose pebble. It did nothing to placate him, and he took a calming breath before he continued, "I cannot claim to know how she does it, Robin. I could never meet such hostility with warmth and patience. While our people mocked and vilified her, she reached out and healed them. She brought soldiers home to their families. She ended the war. And when Ylisse's spirit was mended and the people 'forgave' her?"

His tone turned questioning, and he looked Robin in the eye. The boy shook his head to say he didn't know.

That day, when the stone had struck her forehead, the guards hadn't seen where it had come from, so naturally their first suspect had been a cloaked figure, one with amethystine eye-markings running down the sleeves; Grimleal. However, he now understood that that person could have been innocent regardless of religion or origin. But back then, with hatred still running hot through everyone's veins, nobody had thought of that at the time.

"What are you doing?! Seize him!" the head guard had yelled, pointing at the shady person. The suspect had reached down to grab something bundled in cloth, then ran.

"Don't! Let him escape!" Emmeryn had ordered from her crumpled-over position. Despite their efforts, the Grimleal had escaped unharmed that day. And no matter how many other suspects the guards had attempted to arrest, Emm had ordered them to stand down.

So Chrom stated simply, "She never resented them for it. She represents the best of the halidom--the part worth most protecting. She IS peace."

He faced away again, bitter. "But some men would take advantage of that. Men like King Gangrel. The day he understands peace will be the day death gives it to him."

He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and knew that, in that moment, he must have looked just like... No. Stop.

He grasped the Falchion's hilt meaningfully. "...So perhaps I must be death's agent," he concluded. "Emmeryn would never order him killed, nor would I wish her to."

At his following silence, he felt Robin squeeze his shoulder, the one with the Brand. Gods, the boy was too good to him. Even after being dragged into this war, he still remained so...loyal. Of course, as he'd said, he had nowhere else to go, but he was certain that Robin could have started anew if he so wanted to. He had no sins of forefathers to bear. He had no past to condemn him. He was innocent.

He knew Robin would disagree if he said it aloud, but his amnesia was true bliss.

"Well spoken, sir," said a new, male voice.

Chrom looked up, hand again moving to his sword's hilt, only to see an identical one in the newcomer's sheathe.

"Marth..." he murmured.

The masked young man took a small bow, and said in that same, reserved tone, "Good evening to you."

Chrom frowned. He had no reason to fear this person, but he felt like he ought to keep a 'Frederick-level' of caution this time. With war having officially been declared, security was tighter than ever. He would have believed someone getting in unnoticed to be impossible.

"How did you get in here?" he asked, noting Robin tense beside him.

Marth didn't so much as flinch. "That cleft in the castle wall, behind the maple grove."

...What?

"There? But how would you...? Ugh..." Chrom groaned.

"You know the place, Chrom?" Robin asked curiously, leaning in a little around the larger male, and hissing at the stinging pain that punished him.

The prince looked him over for any sign of the injuries worsening, but saw no blood seeping through his shirt. "Yes. I bashed in part of the wall while training the Shepherds. It's only a small hole, and I'd thought it well concealed, but..."

Robin stifled a chuckle. "You broke the castle wall?"

Chrom chose to ignore the comment.

"Your secret is safe with me." Marth promised, bringing their attention back to him. "I come here only to warn you."

"Warn us?" Chrom questioned, feeling his stomach coil in dread.

"The exalt's life is in danger," stated the swordsman evenly.

"What, Emmeryn?" Chrom blurted, before he calmed himself. There was no need to get upset. "That's absurd. She's guarded at all hours."

At their disbelief, Marth remained silent for a moment, seemingly debating his next words carefully.

Eventually, he sighed before he spoke, "What if... What if I told you I have seen the future? Would you believe me? A future where Emmeryn is killed. Here. Tonight."

Chrom's eyes widened in horror, but he then furrowed his brow. That was impossible. "Seen the future? Have you lost your wits?" he asked incredulously.

Marth lowered his head, navy locks brushing over the mask. "Yes, I expected you wouldn't believe me. So allow me to prove it."

He cleanly drew his sword and held it in front of him in a simple stance. He did not appear to be threatening the prince, even with his eyes covered, but Chrom reached for the hilt of his own Falchion regardless. From the corner of his eye, he saw Robin, who was not carrying a weapon, take a few steps back, but still appearing ready from battle.

"I'm about to save your life," Marth stated plainly, then tilted his head towards the bushes not far behind him. "From him."

A cloaked man burst from the bushes, steel sword glinting in the moonlight.   
Marth's Falchion spun as he threw up into the air, before jumping up after it. Chrom could only watch as the assassin made to horizontally slash across the prince's chest, before Marth grabbed his sword in midair and landed down behind the killer, cutting down the length of his spine.

The assassin jerked as the fatal hit landed, before his knees buckled and he collapsed lifelessly to the ground, blade inches from the prince. Marth straightened, slashing his sword through the air to rid it of the blood.

"I trust this proof will suffice?" he asked.

Chrom stood stunned for a moment, before he uttered a hesitant, "Yeah..."

Robin suddenly gasped, eyes on something Chrom couldn't see. "Marth, look out!"

Another assassin leapt from the bushes, blade rushing to meet Marth. He spun around to block the attack, but his foot slipped on the steel blade of the fallen intruder. He fell back, just as the man's steel sword came down.

The mask was sliced in half. Blue hair that had once been held in place by the mask, unravelled from beneath the shorter top layer, framing a girl's revealed face.

Reacting on instinct, Chrom rushed forward to the crouched assassin and cut him down with a clean slice across the chest, and the man collapsed.

He heard shifting as Marth's got up behind him, and raised himself from his stance to face his saviour, sword lowered.

"Wait, you're..." he stuttered. "You're a woman...?"

After a moment of hesitation, Marth turned to face him, hair that fell to just beneath her shoulder blades flowing with the movement. Contrary to what he had expected, she was actually a very young girl, Lissa's age at the oldest. However, her deep blue eyes were hardened by what could only be combat experience that surpassed even Frederick and Phila's, as her skill with the sword had already suggested. Even as she looked at him with her true face bared, her expression was hard to read, distant and stoic.

"And quite the actress, too," she replied, voice no longer faked, yet still reserved and mature beyond her age. "Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't figure it out until just now."

Chrom was about to retort, but a nearby explosion, followed by the rumbling sound of falling stone that shook the ground beneath their feet, stopped him. The three had needn't utter a word before coming to an agreement, and all started running towards the nearest castle entrance, Marth taking point.

"Which way to Emmeryn's chambers?" she yelled back to the prince once they were inside. Alarm bells started ringing throughout the castle, gathering everyone to mobilise. If the explosion hadn't alerted the other Shepherds to the danger, then this definitely would have.

"Follow me!" Chrom called back, picking up his pace. He found it surprisingly difficult to keep up with the girl, despite being older than her. Legions of guards and pegasus knights were running past them, some already injured and the sounds of battle echoing through the halls.

When they reached Emmeryn's suite, all the Shepherds had already gathered outside the door, fully equipped. Chrom searched desperately for his sisters among the gathered crowd, ignoring the questions the others posed as he barged through.

"Emm!" He finally spotted her and being tightly embraced by Lissa, who was close to tears and being comforted by Maribelle. Chrom swiftly joined them in the group hug, before the eldest spoke up firmly.

"Chrom, grab Lissa and get everyone out of here."

The prince gasped and stumbled back from her in shock. His expression then quickly contorted into one of fury.

"No, Emm! I'm not leaving you here to die!"

"Chrom, please! Flee while you still can!" Emmeryn pleaded, then addressed the gathered group. "You each have but one life, and I do not wish it weighed against mine!"

Phila shook her head vehemently, stepping forward. "No, Your Grace! We will stay here and keep you safe at all costs! What of the people if you were to fall?"

The exalt looked like she wanted to argue, but came up with nothing.

"Have a little faith in us, milady," Phila said again. "We shan't fall." Her voice was firm, and Emmeryn reluctantly nodded.

The tactician finally recovered from the run, though he still panted heavily, and stood up straight. He held a strong gaze as he spoke. "If we take out the leader, the assassins should scatter."

"Not 'we', Robin," Emmeryn interrupted, voice scolding. "You are in no state to fight right now--you need to heal." After a brief moment of thought, she sighed and turned to her brother. "Chrom. Robin and I shall retreat into my room. Phila will be your tactician."

Chrom and Phila nodded in agreement with her suggestion. Robin did not.

"No! I can fight. I have to!"

Frederick stepped forward, scowling at the tactician. "Even if your wounds were healthy enough, you haven't done any physical training for days. You've lost in muscle tone and must regain your strength first. As it stands right now..." His gaze wandered over Robin's smaller stature as he scrutinised him. "You cannot hope to hold a tome and cast a spell at the same time efficiently, never mind holding a sword properly."

Robin looked between Frederick, Emmeryn, and Chrom desperately, with a slight hint of betrayal. Emmeryn had explained Robin's possible association of tactics, his only solid memories, with the comfort of control to Chrom. With the boy unable to fight, or even see the battle to come, he would have no way of knowing or changing what was happening. Seeing the concern in his sister's gaze, he knew that this could prove problematic in keeping Robin calm for the next few hours.

A sudden flicker of light from the corner of his eye made Chrom incline his head to Marth.

The sight left him breathless in awe.

Suspended in midair, from the centre of the tear-shaped hole at the base of the Falchion's blade, a pale azure light was glowing. It was radiant enough to light up Marth's face in blue. Given the sudden alarm in the present mages' eyes and the tingling of his own skin, Chrom could only assume that extremely powerful mana was emanating from the glow. So strong that even his blunt senses could detect it.

"Falchion is gleaming..." the girl murmured as she stared at the light. She looked dumbstruck, too, wide-eyed and fascinated, as though it were some omen. Their was a glow in her own eyes, the first clear emotion Chrom had been able to discern since he'd met her--yearning hope.

"What's wrong?" Chrom asked after checking his own blade. His Falchion was the same as always, no glow or energy emanating from it.

The girl shook herself out of her daze, lowering the still-gleaming sword. "It's not your concern."

Chrom sighed. "Seems like nothing ever is with you."

She lowered her head. "My apologies." For the first time, she sounded truly sincere, no shroud of stoicism concealing her feelings.

Chrom smiled as thanks. "Just stay by Emmeryn's door. We'll handle the killers." he ordered.

Marth locked gazes with him for a split second, then nodded and moved to her new post.

"Good luck to you all," Emmeryn said to the Shepherds. She moved to Robin, just as he finished explaining his defensive strategies to Phila, who had been listening attentively. The exalt then grabbed Robin by the arm and easily pulled him with her, though he only offered resistance for a moment.

He was clearly reluctant, as proven by the pleading gaze he sent Chrom. The prince shook his head solemnly. Robin stared for a moment, and the man could only watch as the tactician lowered his head in defeat, before the doors to Emmeryn's chambers were shut and locked.

"Work with those you feel strongest with." Phila's commanding voice rang loud and clear as the falcon knight mounted her alicorn. "The ones who are vulnerable to attacks stay behind the front lines. Healers, treat any and all injuries and potential curses as soon as possible, so long as there is no immediate danger to yourselves. We mustn't let anyone reach Exalt Emmeryn's chambers, at all costs! You swore to protect the exalt with your lives? Then prove your loyalty!"

There was a collective cheer from the Shepherds and guard forces present, and everyone worked with those they felt closest to, which happened to be the pairs Robin had previously arranged.

Chrom noted Phila's warning to watch out for potential curses. So she, too, was working under the assumption that the enemy was Plegian. He could only agree--the Mad King had been clear on his wish, even if it meant killing Emmeryn. He hadn't seen any emblem on the assassins in the gardens, but there was no need for one.

He had little time to think as he engaged with his opponents. They came from every corridor, from all sides, every corner and every shadow, forcing the Ylisseans to take a defensive formation whilst the Plegians kept pushing their offence. Despite their clear organisation, Chrom couldn't notice a commander among them. Either they had none, or their leader was lying in wait. Most likely the latter.

As he and Sumia cleared another hallway, Sully and Stahl engaging the next, the prince noted the presence of someone not joining the fray.

He seemed to be about Chrom's age, with bright ginger hair, emerald eyes, and a black bandana wrapped around his head. He wore dark clothing that seemed comfortable and easy to move around in, with only a little leather around his chest and forearms to serve as light armour and a cloak falling from his shoulders. All that considered, including the immense sack thrown over his shoulder, Chrom could only conclude he was a thief by profession. He was probably better at picking locks than fights, and was just waiting for a chance to loot a chest and run with his tail between his legs. What Chrom found odd, however, was the fact that he seemed to be permanently sucking a lollipop, occasionally twisting it to the other side of his mouth with his tongue, and that he had a couple more sticking out of his breast pocket, most noticeably one looking like a strawberry-flavoured bear.

Chrom raised his sword at him. "Drop your weapon, or die where you stand!" he challenged, startling the thief.

Reluctantly, he dropped his sword and held his hands up in surrender. "Easy there, blue blood. I'm not here to hurt anyone," he said, voice a deep grumble.

Chrom didn't lower his blade. "...Yet you run with a band of assassins?"

The thief shrugged carelessly, dropping his arms. "Believe it or not, just trying to make a living. This lot said they were trying to break into some kind of vault." Where the Fire Emblem was kept no doubt. "No one said anything about murder. I'd just as soon sit this one out."

As if to prove his point, the redhead did just that, sitting down and slouching against the wall, still sucking the lollipop in his mouth.

Chrom hummed in thought, and lowered his weapon. "Then perhaps you'd be willing to prove your good intentions?"

The thief looked up disinterestedly. "Beg pardon?"

"We need all the help we can get to save the exalt's life. You appear capable, and we could use any information you have about our foes," he elaborated.

"Oh, right--THOSE good intentions. Fine then. I'll prove my sincerity." He shrugged nonchalantly before standing up. He still leaned against the wall with crossed arms, but he was at least showing a little interest. "...If you sweeten the deal."

Chrom scowled. "You want gold? Fine, you scoundrel," he spat, and reached for a pouch at his hip. "Let me just--oops."

A decently-sized bag was knocked loose and fell off of Chrom's belt to the floor. It immediately caught the thief's interest, and he snatched it like a cat would a mouse before the prince could do much as bend down.

"Looks like you dropped something. What's in here, mmm?" He glanced back up at Chrom, hands opening it and searching inside.

The prince felt a smirk pulling at his lips. The man would find nothing of value in there. "Nothing--sweets from my little sister. I'm sure you-"

The thief began fervently rummaging through the pouch for its contents. "'Sweets'? As in, sugar sweets?" he asked, voice suddenly hectic.

Chrom raised an eyebrow at the other's question. "Well...yes, I assume they'd be sweet? But-"

The redhead's face lit up. "IT'S A DEAL!"

Chrom stepped back in confusion. "You'll risk your life for us if I give you...a bag of sweets?"

"I said 'sweeten the deal', didn't I?" the male mirrored Chrom's earlier smirk, spiting him. "Don't get me wrong, I'll take your gold, too. Later. Unless you've got more of these. Name's Gaius, by the way." He stood up and stuck a chocolate in his mouth. Gaius' face brightened even more, and he grinned as he savoured it. "Have you got more of these?!"

An amnesiac tactician of questionable origins, a taciturn Feroxi myrmidon who apparently feared women, and now a thief who would risk his life for mere sweets... Just what was Chrom going to do with these new recruits?

"Um... I'll ask Lissa."

* * *

"Your grip on your sword is wrong, Donnel. Hold your hands slightly further apart, and you will have more control over your blade." Frederick explained to the village boy.

Honestly, the knight couldn't quite tell what his lord had seen in the teen. He was no younger than Robin, true, but their tactician had shown studious knowledge and wisdom beyond his age from the beginning. This boy, on the other hand...

Donnel had a lanky build and round face that lacked in toned muscle, skin tanned from manual field labour. He had not been prepared enough for this attack, so he wore nothing to protect himself other than his day clothes and a dented pan he had brought from home to protect his head of unruly plum-coloured hair. His only scar was a cross on his left cheek, which he had explained to have been from a slip-up with a pitchfork.

Frederick watched as Donnel followed his instructions and landed his blows much more easily than earlier, though the great knight still had to assist him.

"How wazzat, Your Knightliness?" asked the boy in his thick accent, and Frederick nodded.

"You learn quickly. However..."

Before he knew what happened, Donnel was pushed aside and watched as Frederick impaled another three assassins in quick, easy succession. The great knight then turned his stern gaze back to him. "Never turn your back on an enemy. It may cost you your life next time."

Donnel gulped, and nodded shakily.

The two turned to the direction where they heard approaching footsteps, and the great knight only lowered his guard when he realized who they were.

Chrom and, by the looks of it, a red-haired thief ran to Phila, who was stationed near Emmeryn's room for the moment. The sound of pounding paws hitting the floor caught Frederick's ears, and he turned to see a brown mass storming down the hallway towards them. He was seized with fear when he caught sight of the beast.

It was bigger than any bear he had ever seen, yet did not resemble one. In fact, is was closer to a giant rabbit or hare. It was covered in ragged chocolate fur, only its face, ears--drooping and as long as Chrom was tall--, and lower legs bare. Its pupil-less eyes glowed carmine, a low growl emanated from its throat. However, along its shoulders, upper legs and waist were velvet armour plates, strapped around its body with leather. Clearly it had to be owned by someone, but Frederick had no clue as to who would even breed such a monstrosity.

That last thought was discarded when it, the rabbit-like beast, spoke. He was certain he would have had a cardiac arrest by then.

"I knew there was wisdom in slipping in with those rogues," it murmured, eyeing the battle nearby and long ears twitching at distant sounds. The voice was garbled with an underlying growl, but clearly female. "Look how these man-spawn claw at each other like savages! I will repay my warren's debt and then wash my hands of their race."

Prince Chrom wisely gripped the hilt of the Falchion, as did the thief with his iron blade in a reverse grip. The beast then stormed off, barrelling down the invading men and creating deep lacerations with its dark, monstrous claws, biting at their napes and ignoring hits that could not even penetrate its hide.

Frederick gulped down his fear and prepared to lead his armoured mount into a charge, when Marth's voice stopped him.

"Hold! Panne is not your enemy."

Frederick could only turn and stare. That feral beast had a name?!

His lord seem to sense his stress, and held up a hand. Prince Chrom then turned back to Marth. "You know her?"

She hesitated. "I know...of her, and I knew she would come here tonight."

"Quite the prophet, aren't you?"

She gave him an aloof, yet apparently trusting, stare. "As you say. And I swear to you, Panne is an ally."

After a moment, the prince nodded. "Good enough for me." He faced the rest of the Shepherds, who were mostly still engaged in battle, but had all noticed the monstrous rabbit mowing down all who crossed its path. "Alright, Shepherds! For now, we leave this Panne character be!"

The beast paused momentarily to give the prince a look, before it--she--seemed to scoff and return to combat.

Frederick had never liked how his lord seemed to blindly trust people. He had never known it to have been misplaced, but did not enjoy the prospect of that changing any time soon. Who knew these days? Anyone they meet could be an assassin. Granted, Robin had done all he could to prove his loyalty despite his circumstances, but the next person could be an entirely different matter.

"Are you sure that is wise, milord?" he decided to ask.

Prince Chrom regarded him with a look of mild annoyance, and Frederick could have quoted what was going to be said word for word. "Marth has earned our trust. She enjoys her secrets, I know. ...Like her gender, for one, but she has also saved our lives. Twice. And that's enough for me."

Frederick could only sigh, rubbing his temples. Marth, too, seemed lost for words. "Chrom... Thank you," she almost whispered.

His lord nodded firmly and drew his sword. "Now, to the matter at hand--driving these scoundrels from our castle!"

"Yes, milord."

* * *

Outside the main castle building, near where the hole had been blasted in the wall, Validar rose from the sigil he had traced in the ground, the violet glow of it fading. His skin was tanned an unhealthy shade of muddy grey, his pitch black hair slicked back in a fashion that seemed to elongate his already sharp, viper-like visage. He had protruding cheekbones and his crimson eyes were shadowed by his angular brow.

He wore a golden crown-like ornament that curled around the back of his head with two spines along his temples. His clothing was black and lined with amaranth, skin tight from his neck down along the sides of his lean, chiselled torso and flaring into a long robe beneath his waist, the purple lines decorated with eye shapes. A cloak hung from his shoulders, attached across his chest by a golden ring, and was split in two from below his shoulder blades, lined with more gold. The hip and tail bone of a large animal hung from his own, and his claw-like fingernails ran through his thin goatee as he pondered his next course of action.

He had been tracking the presences of his men, and it had come to his attention that despite his advantage of sheer numbers, and that his men had had the Ylisseans surrounded, they were all but wiped out. He had sent two skilled assassins, yet the prince had nary a scratch, one of his men had turned cloak despite the promised reward, and a shapeshifter, a female taguel, had joined the Ylisseans.

Not to mention that the Fire Emblem was not in his hands, and Emmeryn was most definitely not dead on the floor.

As he took a step forward towards the hole he had blown in the castle wall, he froze when he detected another presence, pacing in the exalt's chambers. Young, distressed, full of potential, half-human, half-ghoul.

A grin distorted his face, a laugh bursting from his thin lips. "Ho ho! Could it be?! After years of searching... Tonight, fate truly piles the gifts at my feet!"

And yet, why was the half-ghoul not partaking in the battle? Was he waiting for a chance to pounce upon the exalt and devour her? ...Ah, no, that wouldn't happen. Then perhaps he was simply too cowardly to reveal himself, even though he could easily slaughter them all if he really tried. His distressed aura did not lie.

The Plegian sorcerer's expression darkened. What had that damnable harlot been thinking, bringing him to Ylisse, of all places? They would spurn and kill him if they knew what he was. Binge Eater considered herself a powerful ghoul, one to be reckoned with, and yet how foolish she could be for someone so intellectual.

Even so, they had remained well hidden. Even after so many searches, her wandering tendencies must have kept her and her son from his detection. But she wasn't here, for whatever reason. Did she end up abandoning him on some unfortunate Ylissean ghoul's doorstep after all?

Regardless. Even in her absence, if the half-ghoul was indeed loyally affiliated with the Ylisseans, or at least willing to form a temporary truce, that could prove a problem. If all was as it should be, he would far exceed his mother in power, which could push Validar to his limit. Even so, as long as the Fire Emblem was taken and Emmeryn was dead, then fate's course was assured.

Besides, he had defeated her once before. He could defeat her spawn.

His dark robes glided behind him as he walked, avoiding hallways filled with Ylissean forces and incinerating those who remained in his path. He quickly reached what appeared to be Emmeryn's chambers, guarded by only a single girl. The others were finishing off his pawns.

Their gazes locked. Their eyes widened.

"You!" she growled, unsheathing the blade that was Falchion, the prince's possession, and glowering at him in a fashion that would have probably left Risen squirming.

They had never met before, yet her eyes and aura were unmistakable.

"How dare you," Validar sneered back at her, opening his Elfire tome. Despite her strength, he would not need more to defeat her. "Emmeryn was supposed to be an easy target... You will pay for interfering in my designs!"

The girl charged with a battle cry, eyes filled with a powerful rage he had seen equalled only by one. She unsheathed her Falchion as she ran, and only then did he notice that it's blade was glowing.

So Naga herself was praying for the brat's success.

"O malefica cogitatio," he chanted, pages of his tome fluttering and burnt orange runes coiling around his being. "In flammis infernalibus incendenda es." He raised his hand, palm facing the girl. "Elfire!"

Flames exploded around where her torso had been as she rolled, the fire singeing only her hair and cloak. That blow would have been enough to defeat her if only she hadn't dodged. Regardless, he sidestepped her ire-fuelled swing by a hair's breadth, the energy of the blade irritating his skin and making him hiss in pain.

He stepped back from another strike as he began chanting, and then noticed her stance. Another dodged attack, and he was certain.

This girl fought just like that whore--blinded by emotion and fuelled by such useless, powerless 'love'. Or, in that infuriating woman's case, lust.

He cast another spell, but the girl sensed it in time and leapt back from the sudden burst of flames, the Falchion deflecting the rest.

"I won't let you kill the exalt!" she yelled, underlining every syllable with a swing and finishing off with a lunge.

"Fool," he chuckled, the Falchion only just managing to tear his robes.

He grabbed her by the wrist, his long fingernails digging into her glove. Her eyes widened, but she would not dodge this time.

"Elfire."

She did not scream. She gritted her teeth and bore the pain of the flames licking at her arm, focusing on trying to escape his grip with a trembling hand. Another incantation, and her legs also caught fire. Next was to be her heart.

Validar's eyes widened. He turned and kicked her to the ground, before retreating just in time to dodge the beast's claws.

"Panne!" the girl gasped, patting out the fire.

The beast gave a guttural growl as she stood up from her pounce, glowering at Validar with gleaming crimson eyes.

"Stand down, man-spawn," she ordered the girl.

"Nngh, no!" The girl grasped her blade like a crutch, but her legs trembled too much for her to stand. "I must keep fighting...or what purpose have I served...?" she whimpered.

"Do not go senselessly wasting your life," the beast woman chastised, never moving her gaze from the man. "I owe the exalt a debt, and I intend to repay it."

When her legs gave way, the girl relented. "...A-alright... Don't l-lose, Panne..."

Panne scoffed. "On my pride as a taguel, I shall not die here."

She pounced at him, but Validar swiftly blasted her back with a wall of Elfire. He moved back just as the coney's jaws snapped at where his neck had once been. Panne snarled in frustration and charged at him.

She dodged a burst of flame, then swiftly circled him as her claws met his left shoulder from behind, piercing the skin. She leapt back-

"I tire of this," Validar growled.

And a circle of occult sigils and hieroglyphs formed beneath her feet. Panne gasped in horror.

"Nosferatu."

A deep violet glow emanated from her torso with an ear-shattering, electric burst. Panne screeched in pain, her hide doing nothing to protect her from the dark magic draining her life force, her magical resistance as low as it was. She stumbled back, spasming body morphing as the taguel began to revert into her humanoid form. Validar bathed in the green healing light enveloping him, powered by Panne's energy, sealing the minor wound she had inflicted. A tomeless spell was extremely detrimental to his stocks of mana, but he had too much of it for it to be truly harmful.

The imposter wielding the Falchion could only cry in despair as Validar turned and headed for the door.

"Oh gods, no!"

She struggled up, hobbling over as fast as her legs and sword could carry her, yet Validar ignored her. They both knew what was about to happen.

"No, no, no! GODS DAMN IT! NOOO!!"

Her crusade against fate would end tonight, along with Emmeryn's life, and Ylisse's ownership of the Emblem.

* * *

"Robin, please, calm-"

"How can I stay calm?!"

"They'll be fi-"

"How could you know that?!"

Emmeryn sighed. Robin had been inconsolable all night, pacing back and forth restlessly, one hand grasping the iron sword he had armed himself with, the other running through his hair. She had occasionally managed to calm him enough for him to still and sit beside her for a few minutes, her hand firmly clasping his for comfort, before a distant noise would set him off again. On one occasion, he had grown aggressive, and he had yelled at her to arm herself, not relenting until she had grabbed the most powerful tome in her possession. She already felt uncomfortable just holding it, knowing the chaotic, volatile power inscribed in its pages.

"Robin," she whispered gently, standing up again and leaving the spell book behind. He didn't stop moving and muttering frantically to himself, so she grabbed his hands firmly and forced him to look at her. He flinched and yanked himself out of her grasp, eyes reflecting sudden panic as his thoughts tapered into reality. She gripped his shoulders, looking him in the eye. "Robin, you know how strong they are-"

"Not against this enemy!" he cried, trembling in her grip. "They're losing!"

Emmeryn sincerely hoped that, whatever his advanced hearing was telling him, it was wrong. She pulled him close, resting his forehead on her shoulder--for the third or even fourth time that night--and rubbed his back comfortingly.

"You don't understand! You don't understand!" he repeated those words again and again, like a mantra, shaking his head weakly. She knew what he was referring to, but neither of them would have dared to say it aloud.

"Why w-won't you believe me?!"

She hushed him when his breathing wavered and grew close to sobs, whispering reassurances to calm his terrified whimpers and whines. Like every time before, he gradually relaxed and reciprocated her hug almost desperately. She spoiled him with everything she could to ease his fright. She had fifteen years of practice behind her, and treated him just as she would have Chrom and Lissa, referring to her experience with both in order to deal with his sensitivity.

After all those years, Emmeryn finally felt like she was beginning to uphold her vow to protect and comfort him.

Robin suddenly flinched at another sound beyond her perception, eyes wild as he whipped around to the door, breathing heavily. He tore herself from her hold, jittery.

The sounds of battle had stopped, and they heard the lock click open. Emmeryn grabbed her Mend staff and was about to greet whoever was coming in and heal them, when she, too, froze--she had not heard the telltale jingling of keys.

When the door creaked open, her senses were overwhelmed by an oppressive aura, a portentous amount of mana, and the sounds of many footsteps and shouts rushing in the halls.

A sorcerer with a snake-like affect strided in, without so much as his tome open or a spell chant leaving his lips. He regarded the exalt disdainfully as the doors slid shut with his magic, before his gaze was interrupted by Robin stepping in front of Emmeryn, iron sword unsheathed. With the feeling of upcoming combat, his composure had apparently returned.

Emmeryn silently lamented how someone could find solace in battle.

The sorcerer's lips contorted into a wicked smirk, baring his teeth. "Well, well... Ha ha ha! Oh, I know you..." If it was possible, Robin tensed even further. "Submit to me, and perhaps I might honour you with the truth!"

Even from behind him Emmeryn could tell Robin's guard was lowered by the words. The intruder was clearly Grimleal, therefore Plegian, his robes lined with the same amethystine eyes as the amnesiac's cloak. Did he know Robin? Or was this merely a ploy? Just who was this man?

A female grunt and the sound of metal scraping against stone resounded just before the doors to Emmeryn's chamber shut. The exalt gasped when she saw Phila standing from her crouched position and picking up her silver lance. A few locks of ice-blue hair were loose from her tight bun and falling over her shoulders. Her golden breastplate and pauldrons had a few notable dents, her pale blue uniform sash was torn, and her lance was bloodied. Yet she still stood tall, her red eyes burning into the enemy as much as his did her.

"Exalt Emmeryn shall not come to harm!" she roared and charged the sorcerer. She swiftly thrust her lance, nicking his shoulder as he dodged, chanting and releasing a spell from his Elfire tome.

Normally, direct exposure to flames would lead to third degree burns, but Phila's magical resistance meant she could stand with only mild burns, her armour shielding her from the rest. She pointedly ignored the fire and charged the sorcerer, lunging with her silver lance.

"Don't!" Emmeryn yelped.

"How pathetic," spat the sorcerer as he sidestepped Phila's attack and a wavering slash of an iron sword from the boy. He then kicked Robin in the gut, eliciting a cry of agony. The force, along with the existing injury sent him reeling back towards the wall and onto his knees. The ghoul clutched his gut with both his arms and doubled over, his forehead meeting the cold tiles. He coughed, blood splattering onto the floor, and a sharp muttering that could have only been a curse left his mouth.

Phila rushed to blindside her opponent, only for her lance to pierce thin air and pain lace up her forearm as the sorcerer dodged again and burnt her dominant arm.

She didn't falter, gritting her teeth and slashing her silver weapon at the sorcerer. She was too fast for even him to dodge, and her lance left a deep gash across his torso. She quickly retreated, but she knew he would not be able to heal himself too quickly. He did not carry any other tome, and tomeless magic was especially dangerous to the user. Not to mention that everyone in the room had high magical resistance, meaning his gain in life force from them would be minimal, a waste of mana.

He straightened from his hunched posture, blood running down his chest, and smirked.

"Vindicare."

Emmeryn paled. "Phila!"

Pale violet flames spread from the sorcerer's body, rising high up to the ceiling and lighting up the room in a purple glow. He raised his open palm to Phila.

"Elfire."

It was too late.

The falcon knight cried as another Elfire spell erupted from her torso, and clutched her chest as she suffered an additional half of the injuries she had inflicted upon the sorcerer. The fire did nothing to cauterise the gash that opened underneath her breastplate and clothing, but they only gave her second and third degree burns across her body.

She gasped as her legs gave way beneath her, panting erratically from the pain. She used her lance as a crutch to stand up again, and did so shakily, only for the back of the sorcerer's hand to meet her cheek in a harsh slap. It was strong enough to knock her onto her side, and a silenced scream escaped her as the exposed skin, which was already starting to blister angrily, hit the edge of the coffee table, before she collapsed onto the floor.

The man looked over the pathetic remnants of the fighters that had assaulted him. One crippled in agony, the other unable to stand or hold a weapon well with her injuries.

Emmeryn retreated until she was away from the set of furniture, the table separating her from the sorcerer. She tucked her staff beneath her arm and opened the Bolganone tome, the most powerful Fire spell available to her, staring up at the man making his way over to her. Bolganone created a rupture in the ground, allowing lava to burst forth from beneath her target. However, using it would doubtlessly destroy much of her suite, and almost certainly injure Phila and Robin, who would be helpless against it.

She would be placing them in danger if she used it. Great danger. The sorcerer smirked as she faltered, but she couldn't bring herself to attack. Not at the cost of her friends and ideals. She had sworn long ago not to fight--it had been the only way to win the trust of her people, and was the only way to break the cycle of pain between Ylisse and Plegia.

"Even now, you won't fight? Even with your life in danger?" the Plegian asked as he stood before her, though he did not seem to expect an answer.

She gave him one nonetheless, maintaining and even gaze despite him towering over her. "If it were to hurt Robin and Phila, I could never forgive myself."

He quirked a brow, and glanced briefly at the boy behind them. "If only you knew."

That Robin was a ghoul? She did know, and her answer remained regardless.

"I suppose this only makes this easier," he mused, before grasping her neck and pulling her up. She choked for air as he strangled her, dropping her tome and trying to loosen his grip around her neck.

"Y-Your Grace...!" Phila gasped, trying and failing to stand and fight.

"N-no!" Robin gritted out as he straightened, then cried in pain and doubled over again.

"Now then, to find the Emblem."

He muttered a spell, and Emmeryn felt wisps of mana in her head, prodding around her memories. She couldn't stop them prising the image of the Fire Emblem's location from her recollection, and paled when he smirked.

Only then did she feel dread. If she fell, and the Emblem was taken, the halidom would fall into disarray, and her brother would have to carry the burden of the crown. But she couldn't bear for all these wonderful people to give up their lives just to save hers, she had made that much clear.

Words rang in her head. Words from that day.

No, Robin's mother had not saved her life for her to die here! Even Binge Eater had known that her reign would become one of peace. She had protected her. Robin protected her. Phila protected her. A sovereign's duty was to protect the people, not the other way around.

She would not stand idle as she was killed. She would no longer be the protected. Even if she could not fight back anymore, having dropped her tome, she knew the one person who could yet defeat the Grimleal.

She untucked the Mend staff from beneath her arm and tightened her grip on it. It would require all of her power at such a distance, but she would continue to have her mana flow from the staff to Robin. She had no choice. He was the strongest person in the room--no, the castle. And all she had to do was heal a single organ.

She raised it, pointing the orb at Robin. The sorcerer faltered for a moment, then hastened the incantation he would use to kill her.

"Halatio sancta...! Mend!"

She hadn't expected using a short range staff at a distance to be so painful. Staves were designed to guide the flow of mana gently, lending power from the gods above, but this one was not made to have mana flow through so much air and earth. Her mana flow was sporadic and uneven, some shreds of it straying to the nearest body beside her, that of the enemy, and healing him instead. She couldn't only rely on pointing the staff's orb in the right direction, but she had to guide her energy with pure willpower for it to flow to the right person. It felt like her very strength was being drained from her core, as though she were cursed.

"Your Grace!" Phila cried when she noticed her liege's pain, but the exalt persevered. She had to heal him as fast as possible.

Robin should have been starting to feel the effects by now. Kakuhou were intricate organs for her to heal, having never learnt how to, but the general structure was the same as any other. She sensed the fibers stitching themselves back together, beginning to be aided by the Rc cells, which formed the kagune itself. The tissues clashed and collided, the Rc reinforcing their own structures and forming new vessels for them to run through across the lacerations, speeding up future regeneration no doubt. It was far more breathtaking than human tissue repairing itself.

And as the only human to knowingly and willingly heal a ghoul, perhaps Emmeryn would be the only one to ever witness it.

Robin gasped when the kagune sac was around eighty percent healed, no doubt feeling the sudden spike in Rc activity, staring at the exalt with a hint of apprehension and fear.

"Stop this, Your Grace!" Phila screamed when Emmeryn started feeling faint, struggling to continue the magic. The sorcerer's spell was almost complete, but that didn't matter.

She had won.

"Robin! I've healed it...!" she gasped out, letting the staff slip out of her weak grip and clatter to the floor. Her vision was darkening at he corners, but she fought off the drowsiness licking at her senses.

His eyes widened. In disbelief, dread, terror.

Their gazes locked and, with the last of her strength, she screamed. It was the closest she would ever come to a battle cry, and only then did she understand why soldiers so often did it.

The force of a mere voice, of even a single word, could be truly empowering.

"The KAKUHOU!!"


	11. Divergence

"GODS DAMN IT!!"

Chrom punched a wall, only for his entire fist to go numb from the impact, pins and needles leading him to clench his hand and double over, more obscenities escaping his gritted teeth in between ragged breaths.  
  
Emm, Robin and Phila were in there with that Plegian. Emm was in there. He was indescribably relieved that Phila had managed to leap off her alicorn and inside before the doors shut, but nonetheless anxious. No, anxiety wasn't even half of what he was feeling. Gaius had tried picking the lock, Frederick, Vaike, along with the prince, Sully, and an injured Marth, had tried to force it open with their gathered strength, using the great knight's lance and the two Falchions as crowbars. Miriel and Ricken had been studiously attempting to decode the spell, and Marth had since tried again, all to no avail.

The doors were sealed with dark magic, and the only way they would enter was if either the caster fell, or left.

Chrom prayed to every god he could think of that it would be the former, tugging Lissa towards him in a tight embrace -- he wasn't sure whether it was to comfort his sister or himself.

Although, to his surprise, he had an idea of who needed it even more than them. In the light of Maribelle's Mend Staff, he could see Marth's face. She had been the most persistent in trying to open the doors, had been the first to attempt breaking them open with her Falchion, and also the most devastated at her failure.

Her expression was nothing short of utter despair.

"I can listen to what's going on inside, man-spawn," said Panne, standing shakily as the castle clergy finished treating her burns. She was still weak -- understandably so, having suffered such a powerful Nosferatu spell -- but walked up to him with a gait that demanded no less respect than he would receive from fellow Shepherds.

Her humanoid form was just as strange as her beastly one. She had amaranth markings along her cheeks, and her skin was tanned. Her hair was the same muddy brown as her fur, her shoulders, hands, bare feet, and hips still covered in it, a bushy tail occasionally twitching. Her purple armour had morphed with her, giving her a breastplate for modesty, pauldrons, vambraces, and shin guards, but little else. She still had her floppy, hairless ears, which had iron rings around where they sprouted from her head, and were woven into her two thick plaits.

Meeting her cool red-eyed gaze, Chrom nodded. "Yes... Please do."

She inclined her head curtly and pressed herself against the door. Chrom prayed.

* * *

"I... I've healed it!"

No... Impossible...!

Robin could only stare in horror as Emmeryn dropped her staff, her green gaze hard with determination even in her weakened state. He felt his kagune writhing in the sac, reacting to his sudden panic. It would involuntarily sprout if nothing was done, but he suppressed the urge with whatever willpower he could muster.

"The KAKUHOU!!"

She knew. Emmeryn knew of what he was.

His arm snapped into place as the bones reconnected, his remaining stomach injuries closed all at once, his kakugan manifested, capillaries spreading from his red iris across his blackened eyeball and onto his porcelain skin.

Phila gasped in terror. Robin ignored her. His focus was solely on Emmeryn, and the man choking her. He felt his face contort with rage, granting strength to his battered, sore, and fast recovering body. His bloodstained teeth practically ground together. His breaths came out in throaty growls.

"LET GO OF HER!!" he roared, tearing the sling from around his neck and launching himself at the sorcerer, whose eyes had widened in realisation, smashing the table in his way.

He bit into the man's right shoulder, a sickening squelch and the snapping of bone resounding as his teeth ruptured muscle and the clavicle. The sorcerer let go of his captive and screamed in agony, interrupting the chant. Blood arched from Robin's mouth and ran down his front as he tore his locked jaw out of the human's flesh. He then kicked him in the chest, slamming the Plegian into the wall with a few broken ribs, blood gushing from the ruptured flesh and soaking the Grimleal's side.

The ghoul spun and caught Emmeryn as she crumpled to the ground, curling around her protectively. He shot his enemy a warning glower over his shoulder, before he swiftly carried her to the other side of the collapsed table, being ever so careful to not let her be stained with the deep scarlet dripping from his mouth.

Phila was pale as a sheet, nearing hyperventilation, and her crimson gaze followed even the minutest movement Robin made. Supporting herself on the collapsed coffee table, she shakily raised her silver lance to his neck, her gritted teeth giving her a feral appearance in her dishevelled state.

The pungent aroma of her fear and ready-grilled flesh was thick in the air, making the ghoul's mouth water shamelessly. Robin bristled, shivered with the thrill the smells and the fresh rush of adrenaline gave him, his body tingling with the urge to attack, to sink his teeth into her. He refocused at the sound of a soft voice, just strong enough to still be perceivable above the sorcerer's moans of agony.

"It's okay, Phila... Robin, I knew all this time..."

Emmeryn, barely conscious, wrapped her fingers around the haft of the silver lance, gently tilting the spearhead away from the ghoul's neck.

"Y-Your Grace...?"

The exalt's fluttering jade eyes met the ghoul's wide argent and carmine.

"Don't worry about me... Go," she whispered.

He could only nod dumbly and carefully set her down beside Phila, behind the cover provided by the broken table and the sofa. The falcon knight immediately moved in front of the exalt, allowing Emmeryn to rest her forehead on her shoulder and providing her liege with a living, breathing shield.

Robin tilted his head away and spat out a piece of the enemy's torn black clothing, before he chewed -- blood oozing out of the supple meat and making chills of delight run up his spine, energy flooding his body and kakuhou -- then swallowed the chunk of flesh he had bitten off from the sorcerer. He slipped off his Grimleal coat, undid his belts, letting them fall to the floor, and untucked his shirt. Armour was useless against dark magic, and he didn't want them to get damaged. He opened his reddened mouth to ask how much Emmeryn knew, when a hiss of anger made him snap his head in the direction of the sorcerer.

The man was pushing himself up against the wall, the pale violet flames of the Vengeance spell he had used to defeat Phila rising from his body. Vengeance allowed the user to inflict half the injuries they had suffered in addition to their attack's damage onto their target. So the more the sorcerer was injured, the more dangerous the Vengeance skill became. And with a relatively low cost to the user's mana, it was not used infrequently.

Magical attacks were out of the question. Robin had determined that as soon as the sorcerer had waltzed in. With magical energy that potent, he could not hope for that man's resistance to be low enough for the spells Robin could cast to do much harm. Another thing that set dark mages apart from ordinary mages was their higher physical resistance.

Regardless, against Robin's newly aroused strength, that man stood no chance. This was no longer a battle between a sorcerer and a young mage. This was now a man versus a ghoul, whose strength was generally four to seven times superior than that of a human's, and whose ability to heal could drag this combat out for ages if there was not a decisive hit. And judging by the apprehension wafting from him and his cautious gait, the Grimleal was well aware of these facts.

"Elfire!" the man rasped, palm raised towards the exalt and her retainer.

Robin tackled them down and took the hit unto himself, gasping in pain as the flames burnt him and his right shoulder, including the collarbone, was torn asunder.

"Robin!" he heard Emmeryn exclaim breathlessly. Out of fear for him or herself, the ghoul couldn't know. Perhaps he never would. For once, he ignored her, righting himself and taking a combat stance in spite of his injuries and lack of weapons. Both could be resolved.

The sorcerer snarled in contempt as he watched Robin's irrevocably burnt skin peel and flay, the fresh pink layer beneath then heal, reinforce itself, and mesh with the untouched skin. Fleshy tendrils sprouted from the laceration across his shoulder and interlaced, pulling the wound closed, and the clavicle snapped back together.

Just as the Vengeance flames faded, Robin bent his knees and leapt, ramming his foot into the sorcerer's face from above. He heard the satisfying crunch of a broken nose, but the man tilted his head in the direction of the strike in time for Robin to continue to fall past him. His feet crashed against the floor, doubtlessly leaving cracks with the force he had exerted.

The ghoul swiftly spun up and kicked the sorcerer's still extended left forearm, another snap indicating a broken bone.

A growl of pain left the man's thin lips as he staggered back, meeting Robin's heterochromatic gaze evenly.

For some reason, the enemy grinned, wickedly and wolfishly. "Ha! You're just like her, down to the very bone..."

Robin paused, cocking his head. 'Her'? Who did he mean?

The smirk widened. The Plegian procured a strip of paper with ancient inscriptions from his robes, crumpled it in his hand and muttered a dark incantation beneath his breath. Robin prepared to dodge, eying the hand clasping the paper warily as smoke began to rise, and ashes poured out onto the floor.

A cry tore from his throat as he clutched his head and collapsed, gritting his teeth, hissing at the pain that was like knives slicing along his nerves, searing his sinews, and a lance being driven through his brain. A deafening ringing echoed in his ears and his head, disorienting him. He blinked to clear the fog obscuring his mind and vision, shook his head, but the haziness only worsened with every movement, every twitch of his muscles. He felt himself swaying unsteadily even though he was already on his knees, his vision tilting even though he was certain he was not -- Or was he? -- and making him feel sick to his stomach.

He heard his charges speaking, their voices only worsening his state, and the clacking of the sorcerer's shoes as he strode towards them.

No, Robin had to act. Immediately. He staggered in an attempt to find proper footing.

Emmeryn would die.

But his movements and the gears beginning to turn in his mind only increased his pain, coaxing more groans from his throat. He looked up, trying to blearily focus on the sorcerer, but it was like looking through rippling water; a distorted, shifting image that only worsened his nausea. He felt the recently ingested meat making its way back up his throat.

He heard Phila's lance scrape against the stone, grating to his ears. He whined.

To his overwhelming fear, wrath, and torment, his kagune writhed and squirmed, begging for release.

* * *

The wet, sticky sound of flesh bursting apart, followed by the electric buzzing of a great mass' movements.

Panne froze.

A scent did not lie, so how could this be?

* * *

Robin screeched in torment as his kagune tore through his lumbar, the four coarsely scaled tentacles arching and spasming with predatory intent. His mind and vision had begun to clear, enough for him to aim and slash one of the thin tendrils across the man's back before he could turn. They weren't deep, but enough to damage some vertebrae, and certainly enough to draw the enemy's attention away from his original target.

He felt himself swaying dangerously as he tried to stand, using the four rinkaku for support.

Emmeryn repressed a gasp at the sight, a hand flying to her mouth.

The air of superiority he had been maintaining seemed to leave the sorcerer all at once as he reevaluated the situation. If only the world would stop teetering before him, perhaps Robin would have been able to see clearly what the man was doing.

He seemed to mutter questioningly, with a hint of disdain. Another pulsation invaded Robin's mind, making him clutch his head and dig his nails into his hair, trying to shut out the shrieking ringing.

Robin blinked again, and he could finally see somewhat clearly. The man was standing before Emmeryn, claw-like hand raised and ready to cast the spell, though his main focus was on the ghoul, watching him cautiously, calculating.

How Robin would enjoy seeing those eyes glazed in unimaginable pain, that long body writhe in agony, the smell of blood invading his senses and stirring his hunger. He longed to kill the man for standing before her, ready to strike Emmeryn. The prospect made him feel giddy.

With his blood-red rinkaku, Robin struck his enemy down and ran him into the remains of the table, face pressed into the splintered wood. He crept up to his cussing opponent and pushed him back down when he tried to stagger to his feet. The ghoul crouched on his shoulder blades, feeling the bloodthirsty ecstasy, the thrill of the kill, laced with rage, hatred fuelled by his protectiveness of the exalt, blazing through his sinews like wildfire, burning away his inhibitions.

He didn't care about how much pain the man below him was now suffering. A sadistic part of him even relished his cries. The hedonism taking him over probably should have worried him, but he didn't have the heart to care, so long as it was taken out on the Plegian. This wretch was beyond mercy.

The ghoul leaned down towards his enemy's head, not minding the hiss in pain as he placed his weight on the bite and kagune wounds. The latter truly hadn't been as deep as he would have liked, his intention having been to slice the Plegian in two.

"Don't even think of killing those dear to me," he growled down at the man, bearing his bloodstained teeth in a viscous snarl. "You threaten their lives in any way, and I'll rip you to shreds."

The enemy struggled, but could not fight Robin's overwhelming strength, and screamed in pain when the ghoul pressed down on the shoulder. "Gargh! No! I will not be killed by you!" he sneered, then moved his right hand to once again aim at the two women. "Elf--"

Robin pressed his foot down onto the bitten shoulder, seized the man's upper arm hard enough to break the skin, then ripped it from its socket. The man shrieked in torment as the bone snapped out of the joint, his arteries tore and flesh was rent apart. The ghoul couldn't help himself from lapping up some of the carmine liquid that spilled, allowing himself to get drunk on the luscious flavour.

His kakugan blazing and kagune thrashing with pleasure akin to lust, Robin grabbed the man by his black hair and snapped his neck. Not to grant him a swift death, but the ghoul was beginning to struggle against the temptation to devour that man from head to toe, meat, organs, hair, and all. The smell of the blood was powerful and pungent, inebriating like a drug.

Robin allowed himself to take an indulgent, rapacious breath of the smell, allowing it to wash over him, before shuffling made him snap to attention. He gulped, suddenly acutely aware of the other two presences, and looked up to the exalt and her retainer.

Phila and Emmeryn sat in complete silence, expressions unreadable, but faces pale and clammy with sweat. Fear wafted from them, and Robin knew he had just wasted everything. All that effort to conceal his true strength to a level that matched his physique, all those human meals he'd choked down, only to regurgitate later, all that time lying in the infirmary, awaiting his recovery at a painstakingly slow, human rate with his kakuhou no longer functional.

All of that...for nothing.

He retracted his kagune into the kakuhou and stood, ignoring the corpse at his feet as he faced the door. He had heard the conversation outside perfectly well, and he could smell the odd woman, whose senses apparently rivalled his own. Even so, she had not revealed him...yet. Even if it would probably not be long, he hoped he could continue keeping Chrom oblivious to the truth. At least, just for a little longer. He did not want to be on the receiving end that man's wrath.

"Panne, if they ask, please say that the damage from the Plegian's curses are internal, and that I coughed up a lot of blood. Emmeryn and Phila are supposedly healing me right now," he murmured, praying for her cooperation.

He heard subtle shifting on the other side of the door as a sign she had understood, answering the questions that were being thrown at her in the manner Robin had suggested. He released a shuddering sigh of relief.

The ghoul then faced the two women on the the other side of the room, not even attempting to deactivate his kakugan. They knew anyway. There was no point.

"If you're going to imprison me, turn me in, kill me, or torture me however you wish... Please just make it quick," he murmured, lowering his gaze.

"N-no, we won't do anything like that..." He heard the exalt stutter with a hint of uncertainty. He grunted in disbelief. "I have faith in you."

She had stuttered. Of all people, Emmeryn was nervous. She was afraid of him. He turned away from her, away from the corpse, away from the door, facing the wall. He was a ghoul. They knew, and before long the others would, too. They had seen him mercilessly kill, had seen him enjoy it.

He felt himself hunch forward, blink away tears. They were going to kill him, or worse, imprison him. Their trust, their companionship, their friendship. He was going to lose everything he had ever had. He could see it now.

An idea came to mind, and he turned to pick up the iron sword he had dropped when he'd been crippled, then ran the blade through the laceration across the corpse's back, coating it in crimson. He would at least have some evidence to defend his claim of humanity, ignoring the fact that the witnesses could easily become the judge and the executioner, and the fact that whoever looked closely enough would be able to tell that those wounds and some the markings on the floor had been caused by a coarse weapon.

"We should probably get out of this room, Your Grace," Phila suggested, her movements tense as she stood back up.

"Yes, we should now," Emmeryn said, surprisingly soft, and stood up shakily with her retainer's aid.

Robin picked up his belts and coat, clutching them to his chest, breathing in shakily. All he got was the smell of soap, the exalt, and himself. He could no longer find comfort in that calming female scent he had loved so much. Of a sister, mother, or ghoul caretaker...perhaps he would never know.

* * * 

There was collective gasp when Panne stepped away and the doors to Emmeryn's chambers swung open. As soon as Chrom caught sight of his sister's golden curls, he wrapped her in an embrace so tight he thought she might suffocate. She reciprocated it wholeheartedly despite breathing difficulties, just as Lissa barrelled into both of them.

"Thank the gods, you're safe!" Chrom exclaimed over Lissa's tearful cries of happiness and the relieved conversations of the others.

Emm smiled tiredly, and gestured behind her. "It is Robin who you have to thank, Chrom."

He looked up in search of the tactician, only to barely restrain himself from gasping in horror at Robin's bloodied, ragged appearance.

The left shoulder of Robin's sleeveless shirt was burnt away, and the clothing was barely hanging onto his torso by the torn right shoulder and the blood-soaked material sticking to his bandaged chest. His hair stuck to his face, also caked in scarlet and sweat, and he must have coughed up more blood than Chrom had expected.

He looked exhausted, his entire body trembling as though he was struggling to stay on his feet. Chrom sympathetically clapped him on the back, earning himself an almost remorseful look. The prince ignored it in favour of grasping the boy by the shoulders and looking him square in the eyes.

"Thank you," he sighed. He couldn't think of anything else to say. No words could express his gratitude. "For saving Emm's life."

Oddly, a tear ran down Robin's cheek, and he seemed to be struggling to make it the only one. Chrom figured it was something like survivor's guilt getting to him. Or perhaps that Plegian had said something to damage the boy's self-esteem. Either way, Chrom squeezed his shoulders to comfort him, and he seemed to relax by a fraction, weakly grasping one of Chrom's wrists in return.

When the prince finally stepped back from the boy, Phila bowed to him, stiff as a board. She always was, but he noted she was slightly tenser than usual.

"I beg your forgiveness, milord! I failed in my duty -- they should have never made it into the castle in the first place." Although her expression remained controlled and stoic, her voice betrayed her regret.

Chrom waved her off. "Peace, Phila. You couldn't have known what was coming, only Marth could..." he added absentmindedly.

At the name, Emmeryn looked up from Lissa, brow furrowed in confusion. "Marth?"

Chrom nodded. "Yes, I would speak more with..." He turned to where the foreseer had been, only to find no one. He looked around, but caught no sight of her deep blue armour or hair among the gathered Shepherds, pegasus knights, and clergy. "Um... Robin? Where's Marth?"

"Hmm... An excellent question. She was here a moment ago..." the boy murmured as he, too, scanned the crowd.

"Not again!" Chrom groaned, and took off into a run. Where to, he didn't know exactly. She had known about the cleft he'd created near the maple grove, so he assumed she would know the rest of the castle layout.

But no. If she left, and hadn't been seen entering, then she would be apprehended as a suspect. So she simply couldn't be seen, the same way she hadn't been as she'd entered.  
  
Panting and gasping for breath, Chrom finally reached the castle courtyard, where he had first met her tonight, and hid in the shadows of a few trees beside the paved walkway. Sure enough, Marth was walking towards the trees that formed the grove, head lowered. Her Falchion was no longer glowing.

She paused for a moment, then slowly turned to look back at the castle. She stood stock still, and simply stared at the white palace. Did she expect him to come after her? After a few moments, during which she took a deep breath, Marth turned back around, and Chrom caught a glimpse of a bittersweet smile in the faint light of the nearby torches.

He chose that moment to come out of hiding, interrupting her path away from the castle and standing before her. She halted a couple of paces away from him and met his gaze evenly, the right side of her face lit by the candlelight, contrasted by a shadow over her left.

"Going somewhere? You have a bad habit of leaving without saying goodbye, you know," he said, attempting to sound at least a little more mirthful than he felt at her leaving again.

She seemed to lighten up a little, relaxing. "Yes, I'm afraid I have a few bad habits."

Chrom grinned. "Good ones as well -- you saved my life, as well as both of my sisters. Is there some way I can repay you? Some favour I can grant?"

She lowered her gaze, a tiny smile gracing her features. "Hearing you offer is reward enough."

"But there must be something..."

She shook her head, and said with a tone of finality, "I already have what I came for -- history has been rewritten."

Chrom frowned. So this was goodbye, probably for good. Perhaps now she would answer? "And what future averted?"

She seemed to pause, and Chrom waited. She had long earned her right to secrecy. He would not infringe it now.

But he needn't have, as after a moment, she spoke, as though reciting a tale, "After the exalt's untimely assassination, the Fire Emblem would be stolen. This, in turn, would lead to a great war, and soon to the end of mankind itself." She paused, and shook her head with a resigned smile. "...But I'm sure that sounds like madness to you."

Chrom allowed the words to sink in for a moment, and found, to his own surprise, that he felt absolutely no reason to question her honesty, nor the legitimacy of her claims. "...Strangely, no. It doesn't. Somehow I know I can trust you. And I hope someday to repay your favours."

She smiled, in some way knowingly. After all she had done for them, after she had revealed her knowledge of the future, of course she would. Marth always knew. "Perhaps one day you shall. Until then..."

She gave him a small, graceful bow, then drifted past him. Chrom let her, and silently watched her sapphire hair flow behind her, as the silhouette of the prophetic girl disappeared into the night.

The foreseer did not look back.

After a moment, Chrom, too, turned around and returned to find his eldest sister.

As the prince neared Emmeryn's chambers, passing by Shepherds and people who were carrying the casualties and cadavers away from the scene, he heard Phila report,

"It will take time to investigate how the assassination plot got so far. We have no leads at present."

He rounded a corner, seeing his sister and Frederick also gathered there. Panne and Robin were sitting beside each other against the wall, the boy, now cleaned up, apparently dozing with his forehead on his knees, the rabbit-woman observing him warily. The gathered exalt and subjects turned to meet his gaze, and Chrom wasted no time in making his point.

"It was Plegia! I'm certain of it. They'd do anything for the Emblem." He looked his sister sharply in the eye. "Emm, you can't stay here. Come to Ferox where it's safe."

She met him with a stern gaze. "And leave the people undefended? War is at our borders, Chrom. Do you expect Ylisse to stand against Plegia without a leader? They must know their exalt stands with them."

Chrom sighed, resting a hand on Falchion's hilt. "But if something happens to you? What then?"

Emmeryn seemed to gather her thoughts, gaze flicking down, when Frederick spoke up,

"Your Grace, perhaps you might relocate to the eastern palace for the time being? The other kingdoms know nothing of it. You would be safer."

Chrom looked at his sister pleadingly. "Yes, please. At least that. I can't leave for Ferox with you right in harm's way."

Emmeryn hummed in thought, then gave a reluctant nod. "Very well."

Chrom felt a surge of relief wash over him, and released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Thanks, Emm. I mean it. We'll escort you to the palace before we head north to the border."

* * *

_"How?! How could they have known my plan?! My purpose is to significant to be thwarted...here... Aargh...!"_

_The cries of the fallen and condemned. Deafening wailing. A cacophony of screeches. Cursing in ancient tongue._

_**"Validar."** _

_Our prophet. Our messiah._

_"What? Who are you? ...Where did you...come from?"_

_Their agonised screaming shifts and distorts the plane of nihility. Dizzying and corrupting._

_**"I am the power that compels you. You will not perish here. It is not written. You must live on to author a destiny greater than you know."** _

_Unhand us!_

_The garbled cries continue,_

_Rest we shan't, for our fury is righteous!_

_"I-impossible! It can't be you! ...It can't be..."_

_**"I am the wings of despair. I am the breath of ruin."** _

_For our will shalt be exacted._

_**"I am the fell dragon, Grima."** _

* * *

Phila opened the door to Emmeryn's temporary chambers, eying Robin curtly. He gave her an equally solemn nod in thanks, observing the room. It was a simple studio flat, with the a lavish coffee table and sofas. A guest room for visiting nobility, no doubt. Panne and Emmeryn were already seated, and Robin pointedly avoided the exalt's gaze as he sat himself across from her and beside the humanoid.

Why the exalt had asked for this meeting, with just the four of them, he had no idea. Phila was even unarmed, and had changed out of her armour, wearing only the azure sashes of her uniform.

As soon as the falcon knight had sat herself down beside the exalt, a heavy silence fell over those present. Naturally, Emmeryn was the first to speak, and faced the humanoid.

"Brave taguel, there are not words enough to express my gratitude."

Panne frowned suspiciously. "So you know our true name?"

"Sorry, what's a taguel?" Robin asked, and averted his gaze at the cold stare he received.

"I am a taguel," Panne stated simply, then faltered marginally. "The... The last taguel. We are shape-shifters. Most of your kind calls us 'beast' or 'coney' in the midst of their hunt." She looked the exalt in the eye, a stare that demanded equal respect. "I only helped because my warren owes Ylisse a debt. Do not think us friends, you and I!"

"I don't understand..." Robin murmured.

The taguel snorted, not turning her gaze away from Emmeryn. "Yes, it's precious little man-spawn and man-eaters seem to understand. It was man-spawn like you that invaded our warren and slaughtered my kin."

Emmeryn jolted in horror, eyes wide. "What?! Is this true? Who would do such a thing?"

"Ha!" Panne guffawed humourlessly. "Do not act so shocked. You are all the same. Right down to your base desire to ruin and destroy all your touch -- even each other."

The exalt averted her gaze pensively, and spoke with caution. "...There is truth to your words, perhaps. I'm told that, in taguel society, everyone is treated as an equal. Mankind could learn much from your warren." To everyone's surprise, Emmeryn lowered her head in a respectful bow to Panne, whose eyes widened minutely behind her cold front. "The words may come too late and mean too little, but I am deeply sorry. We have stolen your friends and family and made the world a lesser place."

Phila stood abruptly. "Your Grace -- you had no fault in this!"

"You claim to be blameless, and yet you would apologise? Pah!" Panne spat. "Your words are but wind."

Emmeryn sighed remorsefully, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I know... But they are all I have."

The taguel observed in silence, and she softened her aggressive posture just a little. "...You seem sincere, man-spawn. You feel my pain as your own... I've never felt that before." A pause, and Panne gestured to her body. "Look at me. See what I am. I will never trust mankind. But you..." A smile tugged at her lips, her eyes gentler. "Perhaps you truly are not like the others."

The exalt let out another breath, but this time one of relief. "All I ask is a chance to earn your trust. Now..." She closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm afraid I must ask this. Would you expose Robin?"

He had truly hoped his species would not become a topic of conversation.

Panne's answer was immediate, without hesitation. "I would not. My kind and the man-eaters have generally passed each other by, them for their behaviour akin to that of man, and us for our scent, which is unappetising to them. Unless he gives me a reason to truly despise him, I will see none to reveal him. The conflict between man and man-eater is of no import to me, and I wish to remain independent from the matter."

"And that you shall, on my part," Robin swore without hesitation. She sent him a doubtful look.

"...And yet, you are different from other 'ghouls'. My nose still tells me you are human," she said slowly. Robin froze. "Even with your potent scent of distress, even while you sleep, I find any traces of a man-eater's scent hard to detect. But at the same time, I heard the exalt speak of your kakuhou, the other female accusing you of being a ghoul, and the kagune itself manifesting." She stared at him, hard. "Show me your kakugan."

There was no point in hiding it, Robin figured, as he bore his red eye to them.

Panne's eyes blew wide. "Of course..."

Emmeryn stood abruptly, staring at Robin's kakugan as though she'd seen a ghost. "One-eyed...?"

"Your Grace?" Phila almost whispered, looking between them. "Panne?"

"What's going on?" Robin could only meet their stares with apprehension. He knew his single kakugan was an anomaly, he had since the trip to Regna Ferox, but why this was the case, he had no idea. "Do you know why I only have one kakugan?"

The taguel clasped her hands together, lowering her gaze from him. Emmeryn sat back down and also looked away, at anything but him. Phila seemed ready to jump up and restrain him at any moment, even amidst her own confusion.

Eventually, the taguel began, "What do you believe happens...when a ghoul mates with a human?"

A ghoul and a human? Immediately Robin felt a sense of dread at how this could be related to him, and forced an answer out through gritted teeth.

"...A hybrid--"

"Wrong," Panne interrupted. "The chances of pregnancy are low. Yet if the mother is of man and somehow does conceive, then the ghoul foetus can't receive human flesh and starves to death in the uterus. If the mother is a ghoul, the body recognises the human part of the foetus and reabsorbs it as food."

"But in the rarest of cases," Emmeryn continued, head bowed and brow creased, "some children of mixed species might be born -- half man, half man-eater. Because of heterosis, or hybrid vigour, half-ghouls are said to be far superior to either parent's race. And it is said that a half-ghoul's kakugan manifests only in one eye..." She looked up, meeting his heterochromatic eyes. "Most believe this entire theory to be nothing but a legend, yet the proof stands before us."

Robin allowed his pained head to drop. As they were speaking, the knowledge was flooding back to him, one sentence at a time. One of his parents was a ghoul, the other a human. He was a one-eyed ghoul, a crossbreed so rare, its possible birth was believed nothing but a myth.

He was half of what he devoured. He was half of what could eat him.

Somehow, that felt worse than either alone.

Panne's deep voice broke through his thoughts. "I have heard nothing positive about one-eyed ghouls. Apparently, they are more voracious than their own kind."

'Their own kind'? Did she mean the ghoul or human half? With Panne, it could have been either. Robin remembered his paradoxical thoughts the night the Risen had appeared, remembered fearing cannibalism and inhumanity at once, and could feel that same headache throbbing with a vengeance.

Emmeryn was saying something. "And Miriel's documentations describe the SSS-rated One-Eyed Owl, believed to be a half-ghoul. Not to mention the rumoured One-Eyed King... They are perhaps the most dangerous beings currently known to mankind...except for the fell dragon, of course."

Phila tensed, hand visibly twitching for a lance. "Does that mean...Robin is the Owl? Or worse, the One-Eyed King?" she asked, voice low and eyes dangerously narrowed. Robin deactivated the kakugan, and tried his best to ignore the swirling myriad of thoughts fighting to decide whether he should have been relieved and fearful at these revelations.

Emmeryn raised her arm between the halfbreed and her retainer. "No. The One-Eyed Owl has an ukaku-type kagune, whereas Robin has a rinkaku." To Robin, "Am I correct?"

He nodded stiffly, the knowledge still seeping in and his own reappearing in the blank void of before he met Chrom. "Y-yes... I'm a rinkaku."

"And the assumed age of the One-Eyed King doesn't coincide with Robin's," Panne added. "His existence, as far as I know, isn't even proven. The Owl and the King may just be the same ghoul. We just cannot know."

"That's true," Emmeryn confirmed.

"Would you try to eat the exalt and the Shepherds?" Phila continued, stern.

"The exalted bloodline is disgusting to me, it leaves me gagging..." the half-ghoul replied honestly. "I would never dare eat Chrom, or Lissa, or Emmeryn." He met the exalt's gaze, trying his best to look convincingly sincere. "I owe you and the Shepherds the life I have now. If I were to lose any of you to my own appetite, I... I would never be able to forgive myself."

Emmeryn hummed, "I see. And I'll say it as many times as I must for you to believe me, Robin -- I trust you."

The falcon knight remained stoic, rising from her seat, most certainly clutching a dagger behind her back, Robin observed. She gave her charge a sideways glance, but maintained her focus on the newly revealed half-ghoul, half-human crossbreed.

"Your Grace, why insist on his trust merely because he has not yet acted on hunger? He is clearly Grimleal, a half-ghoul, and extremely dangerous. We don't know how gluttonous he could become, or has been. You cannot place your faith in him simply because he has saved your life, Your Grace, nor believe he has no predatory interest in you by his word alone. It may be a ploy to earn your trust, just as he has Prince Chrom's with his rather conveniently timed 'amnesia'."

Panne bristled, tense, ready to pounce or run from the conflict. Robin was about to retort, when Emmeryn raised her tone, and her words made him freeze up again.

"I would believe the same, had his Grimleal, ghoul mother, the S-rated Binge Eater, not saved my life once before."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas update, anyone?!
> 
> You're welcome!
> 
> ...Okay, so I left this chapter at a cliffhanger, AGAIN. But this chapter would otherwise exceed the kind of word limit I've set. I think this is quite enough for one chapter. The next one will immediately begin with Emmeryn's memories. I've already written a large portion of it, which is perhaps partly the reason for the delay here. I just needed to make sure the hints dropped so far match up to Emmeryn's memory before anything else.
> 
> And here's my little Christmas present to you all -- the structure the first three, canonical parts of Ylisstol Ghoul:
> 
> I: Spawn of Fell  
> \- Ylisse, Plegia, and the Shepherds.  
> \- The tightrope.
> 
> II: Monochrome  
> \- Aogiri Tree and the CCG.  
> \- The birdcage.
> 
> III: Unravel  
> \- The fate of the world.  
> \- The truth.
> 
> For those who are hardcore readers/gamers in one...or the other...or both fandoms involved in this crossover... Well, let's just say you will be pleased! If you are unfamiliar with these fandoms...well, you'll still be pleased!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has supported this work, amateurish original and improved rewrite! Whenever my motivation drops or I hit a wall, another like, comment, or review will spur me on. And we all want that, don't we?
> 
> You're all amazing, and don't forget it!
> 
> Thank you so very much to all of you, and I wish you all a merry Christmas!


	12. Knowledge

Beyond the camp's firelight, the dark nighttime forest to Ylisstol's west seemed ominous, dangerous and frightening. It felt as though the blackened branches could come alive and grab her with claw-like fingers at any moment. Every twig snap, every owl hoot made her jolt with fear, her heartbeat echoing in her ears and stomach churning.  
  
Yet at the same time, the newly-crowned Exalt Emmeryn needed this solitude, this reprieve. That was why she had snuck away in the first place, despite having barely reached eleven years of age.

Her people were sorrowful, enraged, and vengeful, a catastrophic combination on a scale such as this. The families who had lost husbands, sons and daughters grieved, the elderly believed her father heinous, the remaining raged. Emmeryn did not deny any of their accusations -- the last exalt had indeed failed his people. He had sent them to war for his own goals, rather than protect them against it. He had tainted the lineage of the Hero-King. He had sullied their image.

The bandage around Emmeryn's forehead did little to ease the pain she suffered for it.

Once she was far away enough, in a clearing caused by a fallen tree, she sat on the log and looked up at the night sky, as though the constellations -- the divine gods and heroes of yore -- would guide her, give her the strength Chrom, Lissa, and her people needed. Did they see her struggle? Did they also resent her for her father's legacy?

A twig snapped behind her, followed by a cuss someone her age needn't have heard.

She stiffened. Her breathing began to strain as more voices whispered from all directions. More shadows began moving in her peripheral vision.

She was surrounded.

A man stepped forward. Lanky, scar-faced, and grim. Bandits? No, only then did she notice the bronze spear he held, a novice's weapon. If these were rogues, they were inexperienced.

(Later in life, Emmeryn would lament over how much she knew of war at such a young age.)

"Look. The Brand of the Exalt," one of them spat.

"She's the exalt."

Emmeryn's hand flew to her forehead, what little remained uncovered by the bandages. She was trembling with fear, but knew there was only one way out of this without bloodshed. She raised her head, trying her hardest to keep her calm expression and voice from wavering as she spoke, just as Phila had taught her.

"Please, lower your weapons. I do not wish to rule Ylisse as my father did."

Another scoffed. "Like hell! You're the kid of a friggin' tyrant. How could you know a damn thing about peace?!"

She swallowed, meeting the gaze of the one before her. "I know that peace is bringing men and women home to their families, giving food to the children, and treating the injured. Peace cannot be gained by acting upon old hatreds."

The scarred man snorted derisively. "No, maybe peace can't. But justice can."

He raised his lance, as the others closed in, around half a dozen in total, their footfalls reminding her of a pack of wolves surrounding a deer. She stood from the log. Phila had told her not to show weakness, to be strong. Even wolves would hesitate and reconsider if their prey doesn't run, but stands up to them.

In her ideals, she found that strength of conviction, but could that hold against her terror of the blades closing in?

"What's going on here?" a soft female voice asked.

"What the-- Hmph."

The scarred man turned away from Emmeryn, but not before jerking his head at his men, a silent command for them to restrain her and cover her mouth. They were harsh, one of them only able to hold her with a single hand, for lack of both, and the other too young to be a survivor. He must have lost a sibling or parent to one of the many horrors of the last years.

She looked up to the source of the voice. A woman stood at the tree line directly facing her. She wore a black coat, which had violet lines decorated with three occult eye-shapes each down the sleeves, and that fell down to her feet. Beneath, Emmeryn could see a low cut blouse with three bows down the front, and a black dress starting just below her breasts and falling to her heels.

The woman was clutching something wrapped in black cloth to her chest. Her face was shadowed by a cowl pulled down over her eyes. All Emmeryn could see in terms of appearance was a bright complexion, plump pink lips, and a few locks of amethystine hair falling to rest on her bosom.

"Grimleal," the one-handed man muttered beneath his breath. The scarred man grunted in agreement, taking a step forward.

"You get the hell outta here, Plegian," he spat. "We don't need any bitches like you in Ylisse."

The woman was silent for a moment, then licked her lips. She spoke in a heavily accented voice. "I don't appreciate you talking to me so invidiously... Especially before my son."

Emmeryn couldn't help the gasp that escaped her, eyes flicking to the bundle the woman carried. Almost imperceptibly, its sides rose slightly, then fell again -- breathing. She was carrying a young child.

At the noise, the woman seemed to notice Emmeryn.

"...Why would you hold your own sovereign hostage?" she asked, seeming innocently curious.

One of the other men spoke up with a low growl. This one was older than the rest, mid-fifties perhaps. He had probably lost a child.

"None of your business, Plegian. You and your heretics have caused countless Ylisseans to die."

"...I am no Plegian. And killing the exalt will grant you nothing. You are being vindictive."

The scarred man turned away from her again. "And what are you gonna do, bitch? You're unarmed. And don't even pretend to care for her life. So get outta here -- screw off!"

To everyone's surprise, a light, amused giggle bubbled forth from the woman. She held a few fingers to her lips, as though embarrassed by the sound, then took a calming breath.  
  
"Maybe. Maybe not." She took a few delicate steps toward them, readjusting her grip on her son, who stirred lightly before settling again, to press his face into her shoulder. "But do you know what I do care about?"

She grabbed the man by the shoulder, gently pulling down his collar until his skin was exposed, and sultrily whispered to him, "How you taste."

A flash of red.

His head slid from his neck, hitting the ground with a wet thud.

Everyone paled, some whimpering in fear, watching that man's body crumple and fall forwards, pouring red onto the ground. The woman knelt, allowed some of the blood to pool in her cupped hand, before she drank it, some of it running down her chin. She sighed in pleasure, smiling almost mockingly.

"Delicious...!"

The exalt froze. That woman, and therefore her son, were creatures who ate man.

"You... She's one of those c-cannibals!" the young man holding the exalt cried.

"A ghoul!"

"Grimaspawn!" another screamed.

A small sniffle was heard, originating from the trembling bundle she held. Her borderline deranged smile faded, and she caressed what must have been the back of the boy's head, hushing him softly to keep him from crying.

She then lifted her head in the direction of the men again. Two blood-red irises seemed to glow beneath the shadow of her cowl.

"You woke him," she spat, standing.

A squelching sound, like flesh being torn, followed by the ripping of cloth, and six crimson, scaled tentacles erupted from the small of her back. They coiled and spasmed, ends pointing in the direction of the men, and Emmeryn.

"I was going to have some fun with you, but you've angered me." The ghoul licked her lips, and chuckled. "As if you were going to live either way."

Two tentacles each sliced off the hands of Emmeryn's captors, and a third wrapped itself around the exalt's waist, then pulled her towards the ghoul. She stumbled and fell to her knees as soon as the appendage released her, and recoiled in fear when the woman knelt before her.

"Can I entrust him to you for a moment?" she asked softly, revealing the tiny pale boy she held.

Emmeryn gulped slightly, barely able to take her eyes off of the unnatural appendages. But a child surely couldn't hurt her, right? She held out her trembling hands, opening her palms to receive the bundle as the ghoul blocked the men's escape with her fleshy tendrils.

As soon as the small body made contact with her, the infantile child started squirming, struggling to get away from the girl, squeaking in fear. He sounded like he was about to cry. The woman whispered something to him, and he settled only marginally, full of uncertainty and reluctance.

He shakily looked up, and met Emmeryn's jade green eyes with tantalisingly silver irises. Any remains of sleep seemed to have completely dispersed.

"...Guess we'll have to fight our way outta this..." said one of the rogues, a man with a nasty gash across his dominant arm that reeked, was swollen, yellow with puss and red with heat -- infected, badly.

"But how?!" the collapsed young man gasped out as he pressed his handless wrists between his thighs in a futile attempt to stem the profuse bleeding.

The middle-aged man from before gritted his teeth in hurt. "We'll have to get the boy..." he murmured, sounding truly remorseful.

The ghoul smirked, straightening as Emmeryn clutched the fearful child closer. "As though I'd allow that."

A shrill shriek of terror burst from the boy at the sight of one of the men approaching, despite him still being a good few paces away and not moving with a threatening posture or expression.

The ghoul moved regardless. Emmeryn buried her eyes in the boy's shoulder and pressed his fragile body against hers, shielding both of them from the sight.

Blood spilled, heads rolled.

* * *

A tense silence followed the exalt's story. Emmeryn lowered her head. Phila stared blankly. Panne had held Robin in her sights throughout the retelling. Robin had no idea how to react.

Eventually, the exalt continued, "Robin's mother later left for the south, and I haven't heard of you two since then. That is, until the new death tolls came to light... But..."

She took a breath, and shook her head. "Regardless of species, the bond between mother and child is strong. Binge Eater protected me, even though she later commented on me being the most delicious-smelling human she had ever come across. She still saw no reason to kill her sovereign, but satisfied herself on my assailants instead."

Robin's vision swam. Emmeryn looked him in the eye. "She loves you very much, Robin..."

His mother loved him.

He clapped his hands over his mouth when choked sob escaped his lips. The tears broke free, fat drops of brine running down his face and dripping onto his lap as he hunched over, trying his hardest to suppress the undignified sounds coming from him.

He heard Emmeryn stand, then arms drape around his shoulders and pull him into a gentle embrace. He sniffled, ignoring her rank stench in favour of burying his head in the silken jade fabric covering the exalt's shoulder, warmed by her body.

"Do you remember her?" she asked softly.

Those words, however innocent and sympathetic they were meant to be, only deepened his sorrow.

He shook his head, forcing out of his trembling lips, "N-no...!"

His mother loved him, yet he could not even remember her. Her voice, appearance, personality, even her name...they were all unknown to him, to her own son. He could not remember, not even imagine her. To him, she was just a purple-haired, Chon'sin ghoul woman with neither name nor face.

"Oh, Robin," Emmeryn whispered, hushing him as she tightened her embrace. "Don't cry..."

Robin felt something break, perhaps from her tone of voice, or the way she soothingly rubbed his back, and his sobs turned into wails muffled in her damp shoulder and hair, the cries racking his entire body and tearing at his throat. He wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed back, desperate for some kind of tangible warmth in his grasp.

All those years when his mother must have comforted him just like this, caressing his hair, whispering soothing reassurances -- that all would be fine, that he would be alright, that she was there for him, that she wouldn't leave him --, her scent enveloping him like the sweetest blanket. He had forgotten them all, perhaps in the blink of an eye, a matter of seconds, as if those memories had held no importance and had simply been brushed aside, deemed worthless by his damnable amnesic brain.

Or worse, could he have lost his past over the course of several years, one memory at a time, his mother able to do nothing but painfully watch as her son slowly faded to a blank slate, oblivious to the world around him?

He let out a hoarse, lachrymose scream. Emmeryn rushed to calm him. Her words sounded distant.

Never had he imagined to feel such hurt, such self-hate for what he couldn't hope to change, but there was nothing else to feel other than this guilt. He had done nothing less than betray his mother in forgetting her, bringing all her efforts in nurturing, raising, and protecting him to naught.

"My... My mother's scent..." he choked out between hiccups, "was on my...coat b-before it was washed. I-it's g-gone...!"

Emmeryn gasped, sounding close to tears herself, surrounded with his wails of agony. "Gods, I'm so sorry! I didn't... I couldn't--! Please, don't cry, Robin!"

He truly wished he could stop crying and sort himself out, rather than disgrace himself any further than he already had that night, but the tears knew no end. The grief and remorse ran him through, impaling his resolve. All he could do was cry into her shoulder, arms tightly wrapped around her, covering her in tears and snot, and crumbling her own mental fortitude with his sobs.

After what felt like an eternity -- and maybe had been, considering the rose light of dawn breaching the horizon -- of sobbing, pleading, trying to remember, crying for his mother to come back, his breathing finally calmed enough for him to speak somewhat clearly, with a shred of dignity left.

"I-I don't remember her...my own mother..." he choked out of his heaving chest. Another sob broke free. "All she's done for me...g-gone..."

Emmeryn squeezed him reassuringly, and spoke softly, as though a breeze could shatter him, "It's alright. Back then, I vowed I would take care of you, the second I saw that broken little boy." She raised her head from where it had rested beside his, still running her fingers through his white hair. "I'm sure she's looking for you right now. We'll wait for as long as it takes for her to find you."

Robin took a shaky breath, and nodded into the space between her skin and curled golden tresses. "Yeah..."

He sniffled, and raised his head to look her in the eye. She seemed a little worse for wear, better off than Robin knew he was. His eyes felt bloodshot and puffy from crying, his face flushed, and his nose sore. His head throbbed from the new information he had gained that night and his weep, his lips trembled, and hiccups still shook his body.

Emmeryn smiled faintly, resting her palm against his cheek and rubbing tear tracks away with the pad of her thumb. "Don't worry about her. She's enigmatic -- the only thing she told me about either of you was that you were two years old at the time. And I've sent a fair amount of pegasus knights to patrol the south in hopes of finding her, but she clearly knows how to hide. She'll be fine." She gave him a once-over, her brow creasing in pity. "It's you I worry for -- you must be exhausted."

Now that she mentioned it, it suddenly became a struggle for Robin to fight against the heavy weight of his eyelids, and the bone-aching exhaustion in his limbs made him want to just collapse into her and sleep for a week.

He stifled a yawn, eliciting a small laugh from her. "We leave for the east tomorrow, don't we? To the palace?"

"Yes. You should get some rest," she said, moving to stand. Robin followed suit, though he severely lacked in her composure as he stumbled up. Only then did he realise that Panne and Phila were gone. They had probably left long ago, when he'd started sobbing. He let himself tiredly lean into her touch, thanking her beneath his breath.

"Are you sure you can make it to the Shepherds barracks like this?"

He sighed. "I'll be fine."

Lingering a little longer than strictly necessary, Robin stepped away from her, and gave a lazy wave as he left.

He wasn't sure quite how he managed to get there, but he woke up the next morning on the same couch as his first night in Ylisstol. He sat up reluctantly and almost had a heart attack when he bumped into Kellam, the man he'd almost devoured the last time he'd slept there, and who he hadn't noticed until then. At least this time he could blame it on having barely got an hour's sleep after the battle.

As he entered the small dining room, he noted that the others weren't faring much better, but were significantly more rested than him. With the new additions to the last time Robin had seen this room -- Virion, Lon'qu, Maribelle, Ricken, Donnel, Gaius, and Panne -- there was nowhere to sit at the dining table anymore, either, and Robin resisted the urge to heavily lean against the nearby cabinet, lest he be pulled under again.

It took him a moment too long to realise Stahl had said something to him, and seemed to be awaiting a response.

He blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

The green-haired man chuckled, shaking his head. "No need to answer. I'll get you some coffee."

Refusing it would seem odd to humans, so he didn't bother.

"Thanks." But Stahl had already left to the kitchen area.

"How much sleep did you even get, Robin?" Sully asked from beside her fellow cavalier's empty chair. "You look like you just completed one of Frederick's training sessions!"

In other words, like a Risen. He noted how Virion visibly shuddered at the thought.

He shrugged. "Not enough."

"We're all running on fumes right now," Gaius spoke around a mouthful of cupcake. "You ain't the only one, Bubbles."

Had he just misheard? "I'm sorry, what did you just call me?"

"Bubbles," repeated the thief nonchalantly, taking another bite. "I hear you're a cheerful guy."

"O...kay?"

"He's been givin' everyone nicknames," Vaike added, then proudly slammed a fist against his bare chest. "Of course, Teach doesn't need one."

Maribelle and Sumia shook their heads, the former in annoyance, the latter laughingly as she passed Lon'qu a slice of bread. Robin's attention diverted to him.

He analysed the man's affect. Narrow, almond-shaped eyes, and a flatter nose. Despite his height being the same as any Ylissean, the swordsman was definitely of Chon'sin blood.

"Will your fear of women affect you in combat?" Robin asked in his mother tongue.

The others looked at him in confusion, and perhaps a bit of worry, considering his state. Some turned to the mages and healer, Maribelle, to ask if it was ancient language. Lon'qu met him with a dark gaze.

"Don't speak Chon'sin to me," he growled in Ylissean, clarifying the situation. "And the answer is no."

"Why not?" Robin persevered, still in the Valmese language. People tended to be naturally more approachable when spoken to in their native tongue, and he hoped the myrmidon would be the same.

No, not myrmidon. He remembered that the term had sounded odd to him, back when he'd first met Lon'qu in Ferox. Now that he knew about his own culture, the reason why became perfectly clear. The word 'myrmidon' denoted a subordinate to a powerful liege, one who carried out orders unquestioningly. It perfectly fitted Lon'qu, but the Chon'sin name for this class was far more honourable.

Samurai, the warrior caste of Chon'sin, destined to protect the people and serve the bushido code of honour.

Lon'qu was unfortunately spared from answering by Stahl's arrival with Robin's coffee.

"I could have made it myself, you know," Robin found himself saying as he grasped the warm mug.

The cavalier shrugged. "Maybe, but I hear good things about my coffee. Making it isn't too different from preparing medicines like my father does for a living. Anyway, I left it black for you. Add whatever you like!"

The ghoul nodded. "That's fine, thanks."

As Stahl seated himself and got back to his rather large portion, Robin breathed in the scent of the coffee, ready to restrain himself from gagging at the smell.

But he didn't. He sniffed it again, only to find the hot beverage aromatic rather than nauseating. It had a very distinct smell -- strong, but far from unpleasant. If he wasn't mistaken, humans would call it 'bitter'. To his surprise, Robin found that he actually quite liked it.

Tentatively, he took a sip.

He felt himself tearing up at the first pleasant-tasting human food that had ever met his tongue. Delicious didn't even begin cover it. He savoured it, but unlike his voracity when devouring meat, he did so with a calmness and serenity he otherwise could have never enjoyed. It was an indescribably welcome change for his tastebuds, which were accustomed to only different qualities and textures of what he could identify as either human flesh or something decayed and earthy.

"This is great, Stahl," he exclaimed brightly, feeling more awake after he'd only drunk half. The cavalier smiled and thanked him.  
  
Robin enjoyed his drink, turning down offers for food under the pretext of simply having lost his appetite the night before and promising to eat as soon as it returned. He continued to do so, until he almost spilled his new (and only) favourite beverage when Frederick barged through the door.

"Shepherds, hurry up and prepare to leave as soon as possible," ordered the great knight. He didn't yell, but his voice carried just as loudly and forcefully, and everyone scrambled to finish up.

Once again, Robin did not have much to pack; a few spare changes of clothing, his sword and tomes. Only this time, there were the additions of The Black Goat's Egg and a few other novels in Chon'sin and Ylissean he'd adopted as his own, courtesy of the exalt. At least he had more to call his than what he'd always had on his person, which was a much greater comfort than it should have been.

As he made his way towards the entrance to the castle grounds, a blue glint in the grass caught his eye. Squatting down, he noticed it was what remained of Marth's navy and gold-rimmed butterfly mask. It was split perfectly down the middle.

He let out a low whistle. The thought of such a clean, precise cut having been across Chrom's chest made him shiver. Thank the gods Marth had been there.

He unloaded his pack from his shoulder and carefully placed the two halves inside. Should they ever see the foreseer again, he would be sure to give these back to her with his thanks.

As he closed his bag and stood back up, he saw Miriel approach him, a portfolio of documents in her grasp. They rejoined the Shepherds making the final preparations to leave, and she passed her papers to him.

"Her Grace requested that I hand these to you," she said simply.

Glancing around, Robin noticed Emmeryn was already inside her carriage. The exalt met his gaze through the glass window, and gave him a small, encouraging smile. He also noted Phila keeping him under firm scrutiny, albeit less standoffish than before. The falcon knight had every reason to be suspicious of him, so he brushed it off.

As soon as Robin saw the title of the documents, his eyes widened.

_Sekigan no Fukurou - Rate SSS_

"The One-Eyed Owl," he read. Skimming over the text, Robin could see what Emmeryn had meant about so little being known of this ghoul. For a documentation on a ghoul's history and aspects, he had expected a larger amount.

"The exalt has informed me of your bilingualism, so I trust that the original text should be sufficiently comprehensible?" the red-headed scholar asked, though it was hardly a question. "For your information, these documents date back to ten years ago. And a Special Class is the highest rank achievable for any Ghoul Investigator."

Robin frowned. Oddly, he knew the ranking system of the Commission of Counter Ghoul, also known as the CCG. As Junior Investigators, Bureau Investigators started at Rank 3, Ghoul Investigators at Rank 2, and they could all move to Rank 1 before passing to the next three consecutive Senior ranks; First Class, which was often followed by retirement, Associate Special Class, and Special Class Investigators. Naturally, only the exceptionally powerful made it to the top.

But the true question was, how could his mother have known all this? Only she would have been able to educate him on these matters, right?

Frederick gave the orders to march, the convoy of only the exalt and the Shepherds beginning its long travel around the capital to the eastern mountains. To anyone else, it would simply look like a routine patrol, with the presence of their sovereign. At least, that was the idea.

Having no answer to his rhetorical question, Robin focused on reading without bumping into anyone.

_A Special Class Investigator is killed by a ghoul. The mysterious ghoul is designated as X. Possessing combat abilities far superior to any investigator, X's ghoul rate is set at rate S._

_One month later, eradication target X mounts a large-scale attack on a CCG branch, resulting in a high number of casualties. It leads X's rating to be increased from rate S to rate SS._

_With X's kagune appearing similar to feathers, X's designation is changed to the "Owl". Six to eight kakuhou are confirmed. The Owl is believed to be an ukaku ghoul. Also, the Owl is believed to have only one kakugan (according to the last report by an investigator who died in the line of duty). The Owl is re-designated as the "One-Eyed Owl."_

_The Ghoul Detention Centre is attacked by a number of ghouls, including the Owl. The Owl is ultimately increased from a rate SS to rate SSS eradication target._

_The Owl's faction attacks the aforementioned CCG branch for a second time. First Class Investigator Iwao (29), a member of the specially formed Special Countermeasure Unit I, inflicts critical damage to The Owl's kakuhou with his Quinque. (In addition, First Class Investigator Iwao sustains heavy injuries in this attack and is removed from the unit.)_

_The Owl attacks the branch for a third time, this time appearing alone._

_The injury First Class Investigator Iwao inflicted has now fully healed. The special class investigators of the specially formed team try their best to eliminate him, but are incapacitated._

Once Robin had read that far, Miriel continued, "As said, the CCG had no answer to the One-Eyed Owl's overwhelming power. That is, until Chief General Chairman Washuu appointed a Rank 3 investigator under special dispensation. Earning a promotion to Rank 2 within a year, the young talent who was selected for this assignment, nineteen years old at the time, abused all the Special Class Investigators' weaponry and closed in on the Owl."

Robin focused attentively on her words, disbelief and denial swirling in his mind at the information she provided. Her eyes, shaded by her wide-brimmed hat, gave no indication to any falsehood of her claims.

"This battle, between the prodigy and the natural calamity known as the SSS-rated One-Eyed Owl, came to a close with the CCG victorious. The Owl, who sustained critical wounds, disappeared and has subsequently remained out of sight," she concluded.

Robin could only frown in response, and shook his head. The entire story seemed absolutely ridiculous.

"That makes no sense! What kind of nineteen-year-old could hope to defeat a SSS-rated ghoul?" Robin questioned, incredulously looking over the information in his grasp and reviewing the mage's words in his head.

"I neglected to tell you his name and current rank," Miriel reminded, straightening her red cat-eye glasses. "He is now known as Special Class Investigator Ki'shou Arima."

Robin felt his blood run cold.

The Undefeated Ghoul Investigator, who could win against the One-Eyed Owl, known to ghouls as the Death God of the CCG. The very name sent chills down Robin's spine. And given that all he remembered was his name and what he was educated in, the fact that the half-ghoul felt this way could only mean one thing.

His mother, who Emmeryn believed to be S-rated Binge Eater, had specifically taught him to fear Ki'shou Arima, the CCG's Reaper.

"I have never made Special Class Investigator Arima's acquaintance, personally," Miriel said, "but his records speak volumes of his peerlessness. He is not the only person bearing the title of special class investigator, but no other could even hope to achieve such prowess."

"Unbelievable..." Robin murmured. "And this person defeated the One-Eyed Owl as a teenager?"

"That is correct," the mage answered immediately. "These events were ten years ago, mind. Now, he could most certainly accomplish such a feat again."

Robin shuddered. Among the Doves -- a term used by ghouls to specify CCG investigators -- Arima was a monstrous presence.

"Thank you for telling me this," he said to the mage, who nodded curtly, struggling to keep his tone of voice level. And their conversation came to a close.

The rest of that day's march across Ylisse Robin spent joining in Sully and Stahl's banter, figuring out Gaius' character (friendly and easygoing, he found, and decided he quite liked the ginger thief), and discussing books with a surprisingly enthusiastic Sumia. Unfortunately, her interests lied mainly in adventure and romance novels aimed specifically at a young female audience, and she felt suitably unnerved at Robin's taste in Takatsuki's poetic yet morbid, psychological works.

Only when the sun was setting did Frederick allow them to set up camp, and Robin barely repressed the urge to run at the thought of choking down human food. But Stahl, who he was sharing his sleeping quarters with, along with Lon'qu, was already practically dragging him to the mess tent, ignoring Robin's claims that he'd eat later. He was just lucky he had managed to skip lunch as they'd travelled.

As soon as they entered the tent, Robin was assaulted with the smell that humans would call savoury, but he could only define as abhorrent. Everyone was there, even the three exalted siblings, all along the same table. Too many witnesses should he bail out now, Robin lamented silently as he got his portion served, along with some water. At least he had something to wash it down with.

As he turned to search for a seat, Chrom waved him over, shuffling along the bench and patting the empty space beside him. Robin took that as an invitation to sit with him, opposite Lissa and Emmeryn.

Sitting down beside the prince, he noticed the exalt give him an apologetic look at the sight of his full plate, but she averted her gaze quickly enough for neither of her siblings to notice. Phila, who was standing watch nearby, gave him a stoic glance, but said nothing.

"Thank you for letting me sit here," he said automatically to Chrom.

The swordsman brushed it off. "I figured I haven't spoken to you enough." He eyed Robin's untouched plate. "And Frederick said you apparently aren't eating enough."

Damn it all.

Lissa swallowed a mouthful before she piped in, "This tastes way better than the other things we've had so far. Enjoy it!"

Robin ignored his anxiety and started shovelling the food into his mouth, gulping it down before the taste could register properly and feeling it settle heavily in his stomach, feigning hunger and enjoyment, mentally cursing. Carrots (unwashed tree roots), mash (sticky mud), poultry (decaying game) and sauce (soapy dishwater). If only he could enjoy it like Lissa said he would.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Chrom relax once he'd begun eating. Knowing Frederick had raised these concerns, the man probably still had his suspicions on the young tactician. Now that he thought back, that private discussion they'd held the night the Risen had appeared had been after his rejection of the bear meat. And Emmeryn had said that he and his mother had left a higher death toll in their wake.

The great knight definitely still suspected him, and it would take a lot of convincing to shake off Frederick the Wary.

Taking a gulp of water, he asked Chrom, "So, did you find Marth in the end?"

Emmeryn, who seemed to have been pointedly avoiding watching Robin eat, hummed in acknowledgment. "I forgot to ask. Did you, Chrom?"

The man crossed his arms and leaned against the table, nodding. "Yeah, and I think that's the last we'll see of her, too."

Lissa pouted. "That's a shame. What did she say?"

"Did she tell you why she's been helping us?" Robin asked.

"She said her goal was to rewrite history, and that she's now succeeded by preventing Emm's death," Chrom said, meeting his sister's eyes. "If not, the Fire Emblem would have been stolen, and that would have ultimately lead to the end of humanity. It may sound insane, but I believe her."

Robin shuddered. Ghouls and half-ghouls were not exempt from the consequences of mankind's end. They, too, would die.

"Good thing that won't happen now..." he murmured, then remembered he was supposed to be eating. Reluctantly, he persevered to clean his plate.

"Yeah, a really good thing," Lissa agreed, eyes wide.

"There's no need to worry now, darling," Maribelle said as she sat down beside the princess, resting her lacy parasol against the bench and smiling just as delicately. "Even if that would happen, no harm would come to you on my watch."

"On OUR watch," Chrom corrected, tone chastising.

At those words, the blonde noblewoman's eyes briefly flicked to Robin, then back to Lissa. A silent conversation, or perhaps something they'd discussed earlier, seemed to pass between the three. The princess nodded, and her friend sighed.

She looked to Robin sharply. "My dear Lissa insists that I..." She groaned, interlacing her gloved fingers and resting her forehead on them. "Am I really justifying myself to a commoner? Gods..." She raised her head again, this time meeting him with a little less condescension. "I...apologise for being curt. And... And... And you have my thanks for your part in the rescue. There, I said it!"

Ignoring the haughty tone, it was probably the closest thing to a simple 'thank you' Robin was going to get before she truly warmed up to him, so he nodded graciously.

Still, why would she consider it to be so shameful to be kind to someone who wasn't of her class? Why the animosity? Chrom and Lissa treated all among the Shepherds, and even strangers, as social equals, yet they were royalty of all things, the highest possible standing. Then again, he noted that Maribelle's best friend was Lissa.

Before he could say something he would regret, he tried to distract himself, looking about the mess tent. And distracted he was, as he noticed a foreign face among the gathered Shepherds. This elderly, bespectacled man was clearly no fighter, and never had been. He wore green, priestly robes, and no armour save for the iron band along the edge of his hat. His hands seemed constantly in need of movement, the elder wringing them like a nervous twitch.

"Chrom, who is that?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of him.

The prince followed his gaze, as did Emmeryn, before explaining, "The hierarch? He's been a friend of House Ylisse for many years. He guided Emmeryn during the early years of her rule. Why do you ask?"

His eyes narrowed. "Why's he so...jumpy?"

Like a twitching weasel, ready to up and run at any sign of potential danger, but Robin kept that to himself.

"I can't say I'm surprised that he's so alert," Emmeryn said, chidingly. Perhaps a sliver of suspicion had made its way into the half-ghoul's tone. "These are dark times, Robin."

Still, 'alert' seemed to be an understatement. The way the hierarch looked around, hyper-aware of other gazes, despite apparently being as innocent as could be, could pass as wartime nervousness. Yet Robin knew people only acted like that when suspicion would not be entirely inappropriate. These were queues he avoided indicating at all costs when around humans, albeit doubtlessly through years of practice, masks and lies.

"Hey, calm down, Robin. You look like your going to maul him," Chrom said jokingly. Unlike Lissa and Maribelle, Emmeryn did not laugh.

"He just seems...off," Robin murmured in reply, no longer concealing the distrustful edge to his voice.

The elderly man caught his gaze then, and his face wrinkled with something between horror and disgust once he'd looked Robin over. The Grimleal coat, no doubt. Such a devout man would probably have been a close ally to the last exalt, and would bear strong enmity towards anyone not worshipping the Divine Dragon.

A womanly hand grasped his shoulder, and a firm yet gentle voice said, "You should probably turn in."

Only then averting his eyes, Robin nodded stiffly. His dinner was only half-eaten, but nobody took notice after the exalt's word. As he rose from he table, masking discomfort and straining to not curl up, Chrom picked up their plates and glasses.

"I'll take my leave as well, now," he announced. "Goodnight, Emm, Lissa, Maribelle."

After handing over the remains of their dinner to the ones with washing duty, Ricken and Donnel, Robin shot one last look over his shoulder at the hierarch. Unsurprisingly, he was met with cold, yet fearful gaze in return.

He and Chrom continued walking quietly in the direction of their tents. Night had already fallen, and only the lanterns and campfire lit their way. Though he truly wished the prince would leave so that he could expel all he'd just eaten, Robin noted that he had something on his mind. And by the set of his jaw, it wasn't good.

Eventually, Chrom broke the silence, grim. "After the attempt on Emm's life, Frederick insists that I choose one other who would serve as Lissa's guard. He's narrowed down the capable members to Stahl, Sully, and Lon'qu. Your thoughts?"

Robin hummed, offhandedly noting his absence among the list, and immediately set to analysing. Sully was one of the strongest, for certain, and could accompany Lissa anywhere, but may not have been the most observant. Stahl was extremely astute, which could perhaps serve in detecting would-be assassins, but his ability to defend her would probably be average, as he was in all subjects save awareness and gluttony. Neither would quite fit the job in one aspect or the other.

"Lon'qu," he decided. "He's sharp, as is his skill with the blade."

"But isn't he afraid of women?"

"He said this won't affect him during an emergency," Robin reassured.

Chrom grinned. "And he would never do anything untoward! Frederick thought as much, too."

The half-ghoul snorted. "Of course her relationship status is a priority."

"The troubles of being a big brother. Mind you," Chrom gave him a knowing look, "personally, I'm glad I discouraged a relationship with Marth."

Robin doubled over fast enough to give himself whiplash with laughter. When he tried to stop, Chrom's raised brow at what could have been an overreaction only set him off again. The half-ghoul couldn't stop until his dinner hit his gut, abruptly cutting off his giggles as he suppressed a wheeze.

"Hey, you alright?" Chrom asked, worry lacing his voice.

Robin shook his head wearily, and straightened. "I'm fine. I think I just ate a little too much."  
  
That wasn't entirely a lie, but it still pained him to deceive the man he trusted most. Chrom seemed like he was about to say something, then dropped the matter.

"Well, Stahl eats enough for three, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised someone among the Shepherds would be the opposite," he mused aloud. It seemed more to himself than anyone else.

Robin's gut coiled again, and he had to strongly resist the urge to curl up. He forced out his words through a clenched jaw, "Is there anything else you need? It's getting late..."

"Ah, no..." Chrom murmured. "Speak to you tomorrow?"

Robin hastily replied with an offhand, "Yeah, sure."

As soon as the prince was out of earshot, Robin bolted for the edge of camp.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A POLL IS NOW OPEN ON MY FF.NET ACCOUNT. SEE BELOW. 
> 
> Me for the past two months:  
> "I should probably get to writing this... Oh! I have to note this down for future chapters! Okay, now back to the current chapter... Oh! Another great idea!"
> 
> It's pretty much just been a constant loop of that... Plus school... Plus other fanfics... And that a lot was written from scratch, for once. This adds writer's block to list. 
> 
> As in the Fire Emblem universes, all characters other than those who could pass as nobility are reduced to their first names, so Iwao Kuroiwa's full name is not mentioned. Of course, characters of a certain background will retain full names. The reason should become clear soon enough, if it isn't already. Also, I'm writing FIRST NAME, LAST NAME, rather than inverting them.
> 
> That apostrophe in Arima's first name is not a typo. We've come across two Chon'sin names so far; Yen'fay and Lon'qu. Every name from that country in-game has the same naming scheme; "syllable-apostrophe-syllable". As this is the universe we're in, it would be suitable to rewrite the Tokyo Ghoul names matching that scheme.
> 
> If anyone objects, now's the time to tell me!
> 
> And finally, on the matter of Chrom's comment, please bear in mind that, this is a fantasy world equivalent to the renaissance, perhaps nearing baroque, era, so LGBT would not easily be accepted. Renaissance is the end of the middle-ages, when society begins to improve. Baroque is the period where people begin to tolerate other religions, as well as the time science and logic starts to contradict superstition, folklore, and the Church, the period of Enlightenment. I'm basing the date from the hints given mostly in Miriel's Supports, and her voice clip "Enlighten me." is the icing on the cake.
> 
> To my Wattpad readers, I've updated the pictures and videos on some of the chapters. New artwork (none of which is mine, yet) and new soundtracks.
> 
> To all my readers, if you're interested, I'm posting my own manga artworks on PaigeeWorld as anichame. Be warned; there may be spoilers.


	13. Incursion

It had been a few days since the party had left for the eastern palace, where the exalt would find refuge without leaving the halidom. It was placed in a mountain range to the northeast of Ylisstol, and the Shepherds had to follow a single path along a south-facing cliff to get to palace; the sardonically-named Breakneck Pass.

While it was by no means a narrow path, it was a steep drop off the edge, and there was little to no vegetation other than grass that could manifest on the uneven terrain. The expensive carriage had therefore been abandoned at the foothills, though not the convoy. The constant sunlight since the morning would have been welcome anywhere else. Here, with little shade, Robin had simply pulled his coat's hood down over his eyes shortly before noon, and had since kept it that way. It probably made him appear unapproachable, others being unable to see half his face, but Chrom and Lissa, who were with him at the front of the march, didn't seem to mind.

"Ugh, my poor feet," the princess complained breathlessly, as she had been for most of the day. She wiped a few droplets of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. "I've got blisters the size of eggs!"

She gave Lon'qu, who had become a dutiful, albeit distant, second shadow, an expectant look. He made no move to help her, instead taking a stiff step back. She groaned.

Chrom grinned, having hardly broken a sweat. "Oh, it's not so bad, Lissa. Just a healthy little stroll! How are you holding up, Robin?"

Robin had also come to learn that while being a half-ghoul meant he had greater strength, it seemed his stamina was rather lacking, even by human standards. Or perhaps Chrom was simply above par. Either way, he was in much the same state as Lissa, additionally flushed with exertion.

"My legs feel like pudding..." he huffed, pausing briefly and resting with his hands against his knees. "Your endurance astounds me, Chrom."

The prince laughed, turning to face the two fully, a hand at his hip. "Hah! Should I carry you?"

"You can carry me!" Lissa exclaimed. At her brother's raised brow, she pouted. "...No, seriously. I would really be okay with you carrying me."

Behind him, Robin heard the wizened hierarch hum, a tremor in his voice. "Hmm…"

"Is something troubling you, Hierarch?" Frederick asked from atop his mount. "You keep glancing up at the peaks."

The half-ghoul turned in time to see the hierarch jump in fright and look back down from the summit of a nearby mountain, wringing his hands. "Oh, I'm just a b-bit nervous I'm afraid. Gh-ghastly times, these!"

A grumble worked its way up Robin's throat. Ever since he'd seen the man, he'd kept an eye on him, despite Emmeryn and Chrom's chastising at every turn. That man was always wringing his hands, looking around, and stammering nervously. Still, he was doing it a little more so than usual...

"You coming, Ro-- Oh," Chrom paused when he followed the tactician's gaze. He clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Hey, don't look at him like that," he said chidingly.

Footfalls to the east.

Robin snapped his head up and ahead of the party, just as the telltale roars of wyverns echoed through the valley.

"Chrom, look!"

At the same time as he called out, the prince spun around. Axemen, bearing fur across their backs and animal skulls on their heads, and wyvern riders were surrounding them from the northern mountains and the southern valley.

"Plegian soldiers? Damn!" Chrom growled out. "How did they know we were here? Everyone! Prepare for battle!"

One wyvern landed on the upper cliff face further away from them, and the rider took off his helmet, exposing wild burgundy hair and dark skin. He tilted his head back and took a deep sniff of air, grinning broadly as he let it out.

"Ahhhhhhhhh... Smell that, men?" he asked the other soldiers. "The winds of fortune are blowing our way!"

The green-clad priest rushed straight into the fray, raising his arms pleadingly to the Plegian general.

"Hold, sir! General Vasto!" he cried throatily. "I am the man King Gangrel told you about! Did you not receive orders to take me into your protection?"

Robin and Chrom gritted their teeth.

Vasto rubbed his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "I've orders to protect a man, true... But I see no man here!" He leaned down in the direction of the hierarch, whose mouth had fallen agape, grasping the long reins on his wyvern. He smirked. "Only a pig! A rasher of traitorous bacon that sold out his own sovereign! And what do we do with little piggies, mmm?"

Chrom grasped Falchion's hilt. Robin felt tempted to unleash his teeth and claw upon the priest. He deserved no less.

The hierarch stuttered. "Well, you... I mean, perhaps... You let them go free?"

"Oh, are you a chicken now? Bawk bawk! We've a whole barnyard in our midst!" Vasto chuckled darkly as leaned back into his saddle. "Well, it don't matter what you are. The axe will fall just the same!"

"Eeeeeeeeeeeek!" the priest shrieked in terror.

At a flick of Vasto's hand, an axeman behind the hierarch struck him down.

The wyvern screeched along with the laughter of its master.

"Right! Now for the main event. By moon's end, they'll be erecting statues of me in the capital! Ho there! Ylisseans!" the general called down to them. "Give me the Fire Emblem and your wench of a ruler, and spare yourselves a gory end!"

"Phila, take Emmeryn to the rear of the column," ordered the prince, unsheathing his blade. "We'll fend off these blackguards!"

Robin chanced a glance back as the exalt mounted behind Phila and they glided to the back. He caught her eyes for a second, jade pools looking back at him with concern and remorse. He gave her a firm, determined look in return, but it only seemed to sadden her further. Why?

"Robin, I'd like for us to fight together," Chrom said to him, pulling his full attention away from Emmeryn.

"Right." Reluctantly, Robin looked forward and observed who they would face. "Virion, Miriel, Ricken and I will hold the cliff edge from aerial attacks."

"Captain! Robin!" Sumia called, already grasping the reins of her pegasus. "I... I could tackle some of the wyvern riders."

Robin glanced at the riders who had just taken flight, closing in from the valley. "Alright, but pegasus knights aren't as resilient. Fall back as soon as you feel the slightest need!"

"Got it!" She saluted, mounted, and took flight, winged horse galloping through the air.

"Lon'qu, be Lissa's shield. Maribelle, you focus on healing Virion and the mages. Vaike, Kellam, Frederick, protect us from whoever breaches the front lines and flyers who get too close. Who I haven't mentioned is on the front lines. Lissa is in charge of healing you. Gaius, don't rush ahead, stay back. We work our way through the foot soldiers to the general."

* * * 

" _Ventis natis in ambulantum sabulorum nubibus delendi sunt pessimi!_ " Robin raised his hand, aiming at the screeching wyvern swooping up towards them. "Elwind!"

A tempest of curved turquoise blades burst from the circle of runes at the mage's palm and shredded the reptile's wings and scaly armour. It and its rider shrieked, spewing stray fire as it flapped its now useless wings, rapidly spiralling down to the bottom of the valley.

Robin let wrath fuel him during the battle. Wrath towards the treacherous hierarch, anger towards the Plegians, rage towards anyone who dared even think of harming the exalt.

Why would they do such a thing? Hatred only begot hatred. Nothing would change with senseless warfare.

"Get back, Robin!"

Chrom clashed with a Plegian soldier as the axe came down, meeting Falchion's holy steel. The tactician hurried another chant past his lips, gave the prince a warning call, before unleashing more Elwind from just behind him.

Chrom sidestepped in time, the windy blades only tussling his white cloak and striking the soldier down.

"No! Plegians here as well?!" a female voice cried from the southwest. "Prince Chrom! Captain Phila! Beware! Enemy reinforcements to the rear! They'll be upon us soon!"

Robin and those called turned at once to look down the valley.

An Ylissean pegasus knight was riding up to them at full speed. Her vermillion hair was long enough to cascade down her back like a waterfall of fire, her ivory skin matching the scarlet, white, and silver colour scheme of her armour. Her face displayed high cheekbones, and even mounted one could tell she had a perfect physique. She grasped a javelin and threw it at an enemy wyvern rider, spurring her pegasus to dive and retrieving the spear before the opponent's fall, before engaging the next. All with a dauntless finesse and elegance unmatched by anyone Robin had seen this far.

Phila, having apparently heard the warning, landed beside the tactician, Emmeryn mounted just behind her on her alicorn.

"Is that..." The captain's eyes widened in disbelief. "Gods, Cordelia?!"

"Cordelia?" he questioned.

The falcon knight hesitated, before explaining solemnly. "She's one of my knights. Young yet, but quite gifted. But she was stationed on the border... Why...? Oh, gods! Could it mean...?"

Robin grimaced at the same realisation. "Gods, have mercy..."

He was about to launch himself back into the fight, when he detected a scent he had never noticed before, one that, under any other circumstances, might have solicited a feeling of kinship, but here made his blood boil.

Ghoul, straight ahead. A mercenary, by the looks of it. The male wielded an iron lance, which was ineffective against Robin, but no one else. Not to mention the strength he carried. Of course, so long as they did not reveal themselves, ghouls would be welcome allies with their power, and battlefield spoils would be a perfect source of food. A macabre symbiosis.

This ghoul was doubtlessly a greater threat than General Vasto. And if Robin did not neutralise the threat soon... According to his mother, the exalted bloodline was especially mouth-watering.

Still, he had to be careful. Though his scent was apparently human, he couldn't risk the ghoul targeting him. A sudden display of strength that could outmatch Chrom from someone half his mass would be nothing but suspicious. He could not let this come to physical blows.

"Chrom, Gaius, head towards the general and dispatch him as quickly as possible. Before those reinforcements Cordelia warned us about arrive," he ordered, not awaiting a response before retreating from the cliff edge, keeping an eye on his target.

The half-ghoul released a breath of relief through his nose when the prince and thief began making their way through to the enemy general, the enemy forces now entirely focused on the main party. He made his way to higher ground, distancing himself.

"Elwind!" he cried after reciting the incantation.

The fluorescent blue blades raced towards the ghoul, just as he raised his lance in a feeble attempt to block some of the magic, only for it to slice across the haft and tear at his clothing.

And the flesh. Thank the gods -- magic worked the same way on ghouls as it did on humans. It was not the physical resistance a person had built up which nullified magical attacks, but the amount of magical resistance they had built, which was largely dependent on their mana.

That is, until the wounds began to close. Not at the speed characteristic of a rinkaku, and certainly nowhere near Robin's unusual efficiency, but enough to make him revise his planning.

He had to land a decisive hit, especially now that the opponent knew he'd witnessed the ghoulish regeneration.

* * *

"What's Bubbles up to, you think?" Gaius asked from beside Chrom as they made their way to the general, eyes scanning the area.

"I don't know the details, but I do know it'll work out for us," the prince replied. "I trust him."

"If you say so, Blue," the thief replied. He gasped. "Get DOWN!"

Chrom threw himself to the ground without a second thought, just as curved claws as long as his hand swiped where his head had just been, and where an axe would have met his neck.

A wyvern crash-landed just south of them, righting itself and snarling at its missed prey.

"Gods-damned prince!" General Vasto snarled as he adjusted his grip on his axe. "I'll splatter you across the canyon floor!"

Chrom stood, unsheathing Falchion and horizontally raising the blade to eye level. Beside him, Gaius drew his iron sword and held it in a reverse grip, crouching to a low posture, body coiled up like a spring. The complete opposite of Chrom's imposing swordsmanship.

* * *

"Frederick! A little help here!" Robin called, then began chanting an Elthunder spell as the mercenary ghoul raised his lance at him. He absolutely had to make this a death blow, and he knew only the Great Knight could do so with absolute certainty.

"Robin," the brown-haired man said as a greeting when he approached, sharp gaze fixed on the tactician's opponent.

"This guy's strong. We need to take him out with one blow."

Frederick cocked a brow at him, but kept his eyes on the opponent.

He then spurred his armoured warhorse into a charge, lance raised.

"Farewell!" he growled as he skewered the ghoul before them with his silver lance. The blade penetrated the enemy's heart almost as easily as it would a human's, where iron and steel would have failed.

At the same time, Robin released the Elthunder he'd been holding, the great knight retracting his lance just in time before it electrocuted the enemy. Robin watched with bated breath as blood sprayed from the puncture wound, the ghoul's knees buckled, and he fell to the ground.

Only when he didn't move after a few tense seconds did Robin sigh with relief.

"Thanks, Frederick." He gave a small nod, before reassessing the battlefield.

Only to see his relief was short-lived. Another group of wyvern riders was closing in on them from the west, soon to reach them.

"Sumia, Cordelia!" he bellowed into the ravine as the two pegasus knights finished off the last of the wyvern riders. "Reinforcements approaching our backs! Can you handle them?!"

"Yes!" they called back, spurring their mounts into a gallop straight towards their opponents.

"Frederick, join them," he ordered, the great knight obeying after a quick glance towards his lord. "Miriel, Ricken, engage the enemy reinforcements, but don't use Wind! Sumia and Cordelia are in the way!" Shooting a look over his shoulder, he added, "Lon'qu and Lissa, move to aid Chrom and Gaius."

"Right," Lon'qu grunted before sprinting off, leaving Lissa to stumble after him. Though he did appear to be matching his pace, somewhat.

* * *

Vasto's axe came down again, only to meet Gaius' sword.

"So close!" the thief managed to taunt, then swiftly rolled away from beneath the steel.

Chrom slashed at the wyvern, the scales parting as easily as skin, practically fleeing Falchion as it cut through. Having been forged to slay the fell dragon, the hide of a military wyvern posed little difficulty.

The reptilian beast screeched and flailed. Vasto yanked the reins in response, and Chrom had no time to dodge as the wyvern flapped its wings, launching itself into the air, and swung its armoured tail at the prince.

It took Chrom a moment to remember how to breath with the sudden ache of his chest and the throbbing at the back of his head. He blinked to clear his vision as he found himself on the ground, watching Gaius jump at the newly-grounded general and try to slice at him, as one of the wyvern's wings slammed him back down and the axe again rushed to meet him.

The clank of steel meeting steel resounded, Vasto growling in frustration as his axe futilely ground against Lon'qu's curved Killing Edge.

"Thanks a bunch!" Gaius exclaimed as he crawled out from behind the myrmidon, who pushed the axeman off himself before slashing at Vasto's dominant arm.

Lissa's blonde hair bobbed into vision above Chrom as she recited a chant to treat his head wound, her Heal staff glowing with the mana.

He watched as Lon'qu readied his stance, blade horizontal, knees bent, narrowed his eyes in concentration, then charged, leapt into the air, and ran General Vasto through atop his wyvern.

"Be silent," he growled, before kicking the man off his bloodied sword. Regardless of Emm speculating his Chon'sin origin, that man was a Feroxi thoroughbred.

The Plegian's body limply fell out of the saddle, the man coughing up blood.

"You doves think...killing me will change anything?" He grinned, even as his wyvern wailed the loss of its master. "Heh... Even now, my brothers storm across your precious border..." As Chrom got back up, the general tilted his head back to peer at him. "Go on, dear exalted coward! Run! Flee while they slaughter your subjects! Save yourself... Let their faith in you...bleed away...with the rest..."

Trying his hardest to pay that man's final words no mind, the prince regarded the battlefield, only to see the others hurrying towards them, and no more enemy reinforcements in the distance.

Lon'qu sheathed his Killing Edge, Gaius mimicking the action with his iron sword. Lissa joined as Phila's pegasus landed near the gathering.

He heaved a weary sigh, sheathing Falchion. "...They're gone."

Emm dismounted from behind Phila, unusually tense and pensive, arms seemingly wrapped around her torso beneath her golden and jade robes.

"Your Grace! My prince!" Cordelia cried as she and Sumia landed their pegasi, panicked and beads of sweat running down her forehead. "Run! As far and fast as you can! More Plegians are coming, not a half day's march behind you!"

"Cordelia, what are you doing here?" Phila asked, then grimaced in dread. "...Tell me the border remains secure!"

The redhead shuddered, lowering her head. Her voice shook. "That I could, milady! But it would be false... Gangrel himself led his might against us! The end was upon us when my knight-sisters begged me fly and warn the exalt... I should have stayed... I should have stayed!" She shook her head violently, hand coming up to rest her forehead on, eyes squeezed shut. "Ah, gods, I can still hear the screams…"

Tears sprung from Sumia's eyes as she placed a comforting hand on her childhood friend's back. Phila guided her alicorn to beside her subordinate's pegasus, and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Peace, Cordelia," she said solemnly, curt tone masking the grief behind her eyes. "You did your duty. The sisters rightly prized your youth. You've many years yet to keep their legacy alive."

"But I abandoned them!" she cried. "I'm weak... Their legacy deserves better."

"Sometimes fleeing takes the most courage. They knew that." The falcon knight hardened her expression, pointed eyebrows lowering. "Now pull yourself together. Let the faith they showed in you give you strength."

"Captain Phila, I... How can I go on like this? They were my...my family..." She let out a choked sob, covering her face with her hands. "Gods... Oh, gods…"

"Damn those monsters!" Chrom growled.

After a moment, Emm straightened and met his gaze, hard. "I must return to the capital."

Phila gasped, Cordelia as well as everyone present looking at their sovereign in equal disbelief. "Your Grace, I cannot advise--"

Emm cut her off. "I should never have left. If it's discovered I'm away when this news comes to light... The people could panic. Riot. More Ylisseans could needlessly die." She turned to her brother. "Here, Chrom. I entrust this to you."

From beneath her thick robes, Emm revealed a great, golden shield. It was worn by time, the colour slightly dulled. From what looked like a fist-sized, round ivory stone slotted into a fitted alcove near the top, a vertical branch not dissimilar from Falchion's blade sprang forth, then split into four other curved branches, each ending with another rounded alcove, these ones empty.

Chrom's eyes widened, mouth hanging agape. "The Fire Emblem?"

Emm nodded. She then took sure steps forward, forcefully moving her brother's hands and pressing the Fire Emblem into his slack grip. "Take it to Ferox -- to safety."

The switch from disbelief to anger was near instantaneous. "And leave you? No, Emm."

"No part of House Ylisse matters more than the Emblem. It possesses tremendous power," she said sternly, before slowly stepping back, face remorseful. "But too much blood has been shed over it already. I hope it finds a better guardian in you than it did me."

"Emm, come on. You can't... Don't talk like that!" Chrom cried, eyes shimmering. Yet despite himself, he somehow held the Emblem. "You sound like you're ready to give up…"

Her tone was resolute. "I am not giving up, Chrom. I am only giving what I can."

He shook his head. Going back to Ylisstol now, with Gangrel storming the border and doubtlessly heading straight for the capital, was nothing short of suicide. "Emm, please! This is madness!"

"Sis, wait!" Lissa shrieked, only restrained by Maribelle rubbing her shoulders comfortingly. "Let me go with you!"

Her sister shook her head. "Stay with Chrom, Lissa. I command it."

Tears sprung from the princess' eyes. "This isn't fair! It's not fair! I know our people need you, but we need you, too!"

The exalt tried to smile softly. "Dry your tears, love. This is not good-bye."

"Your Grace," Phila called, her voice lacking its stoic edge. "I will accompany you to Ylisstol."

"Very well, Phila. Thank you."

"Emmeryn... Let me come, too!" Even as the many sets of incredulous eyes turned to him, the words seemed to pour from Robin's mouth unbidden. "I can fight! I can protect you!"

"Please, let Robin convince her," the prince prayed. "Let the tactician handle this. Let Emm reconsider and come to the safety of Regna Ferox. Gods, have mercy!" All Chrom wanted to do was scream. And yet his prayers fell upon the gods' deaf ears as after a moment, during which Phila narrowed her eyes on Robin, Emm shook her head.

"Stay with Chrom. There is greater need for you here."

The prince looked to his friend, watched him squirm and avert his gaze, teeth gritted and fists clenched.

To his surprise, Emm sighed. "Perhaps we should discuss something in private..."

The boy immediately piped up, and Chrom could only wonder as the two left the gathering, moving away until the were behind a rock mass, beyond view and earshot.

The prince exchanged a look with Frederick. He shook his head to say he didn't know.

* * *

"I can't convince you not to go, can I?" was all Robin asked.

"I'm sorry," Emmeryn said, "but I cannot abandon my people, and the Fire Emblem must be protected at all costs. You know that, don't you?"

His brows furrowed, mouth thinning into a grim line. This was all for the Fire Emblem, the legendary Shield of Seals, protected by the exalted bloodline? That was an object of so much strife? That was what the Mad-King so desired, enough to start another war over? That piece of metal, apparently imbued with magical properties?

At that moment, Robin could feel nothing but acute hate -- loathing towards that grail.

"You're mother left me that day with a single warning," the exalt continued, regaining his unwavering attention. "My reign would at some point lead to a fateful decision, a dilemma. If I continuously refuse to fight, then all those who oppose me would close in, threatening those I love -- my people. Unable to fight the assaulter, I may eventually have to choose between pacifism or the safety of others, when I can no longer preserve both." She shook her head. "She made the horrible comparison of me choosing to save either her or you from someone trying to kill you. I couldn't believe she expected me to answer that question, when all I would have wanted was to save both."

"To sacrifice one or the other," Robin murmured, "unable to save both, if you don't have the strength to kill the one responsible for the dilemma..."

He felt a strong resonance with those words.

Emmeryn nodded solemnly. "She said to me that if such a time were to come, the mother would want the child to live. And as exalt, I see the people of Ylisse as my responsibility, as if they were my own children. And I will give my all to protect them."

No matter how hard he tried, Robin still could hardly imagine it. Emmeryn had the power and authority of the exalt, yet still had to make sacrifices at every turn. As of now, her pacifism had failed her, and her people were in danger. And yet, despite the burden that rested upon her shoulders, despite the outrage of her siblings and retainers, she retained the conviction needed to place herself back in harm's way.

That took a special kind of strength. One he couldn't help but be entranced by.

That wise gleam in her jade eyes, her golden locks swaying with her careful movements, her posture that belied a quiet determination, the gentle curve of her jaw, her fair skin, her soft lips...

Robin found himself leaning in, eyes transfixed on her, heated breath fanning against her lips, completely unperturbed by her scent.

No.

He pulled back, shuddering in the suddenly heavy air despite the altitude.

A hand at his cheek guided him to meet the exalt's mesmerising gaze.

"Robin, I..." She took a deep breath. "I'm bound to the crown, like a mother is to her child. Unfortunate though it is, my duty lies in ruling the Halidom of Ylisse, and protecting the Fire Emblem. Though, perhaps not anymore..."

His breath hitched when she placed a palm against his other cheek. He felt heat blossom on his face.

"I know. It's alright," was all she said. All she needed to.

With a hand at the back of his head, fingers lacing into his snow-coloured hair, she pulled him towards her, until their foreheads touched softly. He couldn't bring himself to mind her scent.

"Perhaps someday. Somehow," she whispered.

He hummed softly in response, eyes closed.

After a long while that still seemed too short, Emmeryn pulled away. She grasped his hand and gave it a soft squeeze. He opened his eyes, seeing nothing but her jade irises, shimmering with something he could not place.

Still in that ever so quiet, sad tone, she murmured, "Come -- we should go back."

Robin belatedly mumbled in lacklustre assent as she tugged him towards the others. They let go before any looks could have been shot their way, and his hand suddenly felt cold without hers.

Frederick bowed deeply when they rejoined the others. "I will keep the prince and princess safe, Your Grace. You have my word."

She smiled. "I know you will, Frederick. Thank you."

"It is my honour."

Phila refocused on the red-haired pegasus knight. "Cordelia. You will stay here with Prince Chrom."

The young woman looked between her superior and the prince, distraught. "But, Captain--"

The falcon knight clapped her on the shoulder. "I know your heart is heavy, but this is how it must be. Your knight-sisters will be with you in spirit, wherever you go."

Cordelia exchanged a look with Sumia, who seemed to have a heart just as heavy. As one, they faced Phila with as strong a mien as they could force.

"...May they give me strength," prayed the redhead, and saluted Phila. "As you command, Captain. I will pray for your safety."

"Understood, Captain," Sumia saluted, eyes shimmering. "We'll make our knight-sisters proud."

"Come, Phila," Emmeryn spoke softly. "We must go."

"No!" Chrom cried, stepping forward. "You don't have to go! This is absurd!"

His sister remained steadfast. "Chrom, you don't--"

"Walking to your own death will not bring peace to anyone! Ylisse needs you. WE need you! Be selfish for once in your life!" he yelled, voice cracking.

For a long moment, Emmeryn said nothing. No one spoke a word, only the prince's near hysteric breaths breaking the heavy silence that settled over them like a raincloud.

Then, she smiled. "I love you, Chrom. Both you and Lissa are my everything. As for the peace I seek... You cannot see who it is for."

She gathered Chrom and beckoned Lissa into a hug, one her siblings reciprocated desperately.

"I have to go," she murmured to them. "I'm sorry -- I truly am. Let us embrace again in Ylisstol when you arrive with Feroxi reinforcements. I know you will come."

Chrom shook his head as they pulled apart, holding a tearful Lissa against his side in some semblance of a comforting hug. "This is a terrible plan."

As Phila helped the exalt onto her mount, the golden-haired woman gave one small smile to her siblings. "The blood of the first exalt flows strong in us. You and I will keep Ylisse safe. I believe it with all my heart. Safe journey, Chrom. Safe journey, Lissa." Her gaze moved to Robin one last time. "Safe journey, Robin."

Following the only instinct he had then, the half-ghoul bowed. "I will keep them safe. I promise."

When he straightened, he heard a smile in the woman's voice. "I know you will. Thank you."

With clear reluctance, Phila spurred her alicorn into a trot, then a gallop, until it flapped its wings.

The prince couldn't hold back any longer, bursting into a hopeless dash to catch up with the alicorn as its hooves left the ground. His hand only barely brushed the end of his sister's jade cloak billowing behind her, and the smooth silk gave him no hold, slipping away between his fingertips like sand.

"Emm..." he murmured helplessly, slowing to a listless halt. "Emm!" Robin placed a hand on Chrom's shoulder. All the man seemed able to do was place a hand over his, and moan in despair.

Despite everything, so much had been left unsaid. Robin realised there must have been several things about that night fourteen years ago which Emmeryn would never disclose to him. Of course, he could imagine that it must have been traumatic for such a young girl to so suddenly be faced with the harsh realities of the world--

That was a lie.

An amnesic teenage man-eater of questionable origin, who couldn't even remember what this feeling in his gut was, was not entitled to do what he believed he'd been going to. He would never understand her.

Robin watched the silhouette of the alicorn carrying Phila and Emmeryn become smaller and smaller, until it was nothing but a dark cross against the horizon.

His vision swam as that, too, faded into the distance.

* * *

"I know you don't trust Robin. There's no need to hide that, Phila," the exalt spoke above the howling winds.

The falcon knight hesitated. "It's not quite...like that." She shook her head. "I can't really explain..."

Emmeryn squeezed her shoulder. "I know. This is a difficult situation. I am in no way deluding myself to think that his mother's reasons for sparing me are entirely altruistic. I realise how ambiguous they both are."

Phila was silent for a moment. "I noticed you add some additional notes to our information on ghouls, Your Grace. Knowing all this, why?"

"Because however difficult they may find it to reach the same moral standards as us humans, that doesn't stop them from trying, from wanting to be like us. And however highly we humans regard ourselves, we are far from free of depravity. Of that, I am certain."

She have a nondescript hum. "That's exactly what I suspected you'd say, Your Grace."

But Exalt Emmeryn knew, with only a little thought put into it, the true nature of the situation they, humans and ghouls, faced was clear as day.

Ghouls ate humans because they could do no different, fearing persecution.

Humans hunted ghouls out of a sense of justice, fearing the food chain.

Each failed to understand the troubles and true identity of the other. The Commission of Counter Ghoul did not seek to understand ghouls, only to find methods of eradication. Many believed ghouls were unable to feel even a sense of camaraderie, that they were nothing but ravenous beasts.

Wolves are called the same thing. Yet they protect their families, raise their pups, love, play, and even grieve.

Many ghouls had indeed gone down the wrong path. Binge Eater was probably one, too. Yet Robin, raised by that selfsame woman, was virtuous, as surely many other ghouls were, as well.

Much like the many Plegia-Ylisse wars of the past, all this conflict was caused by prejudice, blaming the many for the crimes of the few. Revenge begot hatred, hatred begot death, death begot revenge. The vicious cycle would thus continue forevermore, as one incited the other, until finally both would collapse.

Humans were no livestock. Yet ghouls were no monsters.

And Robin was neither. Extremely capricious, yes, but far from an uncontrollable beast. And Binge Eater, for whatever reason, had protected Emmeryn despite her name, just as her son had done. They showed compassion, the wish to protect her, benevolence, all of which were synonymous with the word "humanity".

Emmeryn's father had been human, yet his actions had been cruel, depraved, and merciless, synonymous with the word "monstrous". Some might even call him "ghoulish" and not be entirely wrong.

Both hunted, and both were hunted. They all felt, feared, and cried. Ghouls and man each called the other a monster. Yet in the end, they were all the same.

So how come she, Exalt Emmeryn, was the only one to see it?

The answer, as she found, was painfully simple;

Because she was the only one who tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE POLL IS STILL OPEN. SEE THE LAST CHAPTER'S NOTES FOR DETAILS.
> 
> Translation of the latinised chant: O wind born amidst clouds of shifting sand, mow down those who would do evil!
> 
> Right, let's finally shove this onto the internet before I can regret it, or it'll never go!
> 
> I was a little dissatisfied with the last chapter, so this one has more interesting things to say. Though the rest of the chapter was quite a struggle, I was very eager in writing the last couple of scenes, in case you couldn't tell. I just love the psychological and philosophical aspects of Tokyo Ghoul, and tried to convey them to the best of my ability. And of course Ishida's use of symbolism! If anything is ever unclear, don't hesitate to let me know immediately so I can explain it in a following chapter!
> 
> Some parts of this chapter are a little different from the original, but no part of it is an actual carbon copy. I copied the official script from the Wikia and did not reuse my old one. I compared it to the old version when writing (my style then was APPALLINGLY CLICHÉ at parts) only when I did not quite know how to phrase something. Important scenes, the one between Robin and Emmeryn (which is probably still appallingly cliché) and Emmeryn's monologue, I spent a lot of time noting and editing beforehand.
> 
> Still, this is not a romance or shipping, "WAIFU EMBLEM" fic. I want this to focus more on the psychology of the characters, though I have been told the dynamics between them shines through in this fic. Regardless, romance will be only a small element. I don't want to go too far into fluffy-mushy territory. Of course, Robin will not go unfazed by this all. He's very sensitive -- also for a very good reason.


	14. Descent

The few days' march to the Feroxi capital had passed under a sombre air. Many Shepherds had tried to act normally, but the unspoken effect Emmeryn's parting had had on the group was undeniable. The two best friends, Cordelia and Sumia, mourned the loss of their knight-sisters at the border. Lissa had been in tears and hysterics on and off throughout the travel, comforted by Maribelle and constantly accompanied by Lon'qu, who seemed to be trying to help while maintaining an unapproachable distance. Chrom spent more time than not worrying and pensive, barely responding even when spoken to by his little sister and Frederick, whose normally pristine posture was now one of failure.

Robin wasn't sure what to feel, nor how to describe or compare it. The skirmishes they'd had with the Risen along the way, and his pleasureful eating, had taken his mind off it only for a short while. All he could focus on was distraction.

As the Shepherds awaited Khan Flavia's return from rallying the people of Regna Ferox in the fortified castle's throne room, Lissa was again unable to calm herself.

"B-but she's safe inside the castle, right? Phila and the others will protect her!" she whimpered more to herself than anyone else among the gathered Shepherds. "And Khan Flavia is assembling her best troops as we speak. We'll make it back home in time. I know we will!"

Robin made a poor attempt at an encouraging smile. Without him feeling that confidence he tried to feign, it was hollow. She looked to her brother, only to see his eyes glazed and expression distant.

"Chrom? Say something!" she begged. "Say, 'Yes, of course we will!'"

The prince blinked and met her gaze. Realising he must have been spoken to, he shook his head to clear stray thoughts. "...I'm sorry, Lissa. What?"

She groaned, "Ugh, fine! Never mind! Let me know when you get out of your own head for a second!"

The last comment seemed to go unheard as the prince once again fell into silence.

Just as Robin thought he was about to snap at this, Sumia, of all people, stepped forward from the gathered Shepherds, expression hardened and posture surprisingly confident.

"Snap out of it, Captain!" she ordered and, still fully armed with metal gauntlets, gave him a right hook across the face.

"OW!" Chrom clenched his aching jaw, rubbing the reddening fist-shaped mark across his left cheek. "...What the hell was that for?!"

Most of the Shepherds as well as Khan Flavia, who had entered at the exact moment the punch had landed, stood not in shock, per se; it was more of a surprised silence that permeated the crowd.

Sumia pulled back reservedly, grasping her right hand as though that would remedy her error. "Oh no! ...Did I do it wrong? Captain Phila said sometimes a good slap will break someone out of their doldrums."

As Chrom continued the chewing motions in an attempt to ease the ache of his jaw, groaning relentlessly, Lissa sighed. "Sumia, when you slap someone, you do it with an open palm. You just punched Chrom in the face!"

"Um... It's the thought that counts?" she said more like a question.

"Thank you for saving me the trouble," Robin commented. "I don't think it would've been much better had I done it."

Lissa yelped. "Robin!"

"Gods, that seriously hurt…" Chrom grumbled, straightening from the stumble Sumia's punch had caused.

Khan Flavia gave a throaty laugh. "Ha ha! What's wrong, my dear prince? Sometimes love hurts! You're lucky to have strong women like these, and not just dainty flowers about." Shaking her head, the blonde war veteran turned serious. "In any case, I bring good news. The Feroxi army has finally mobilised. Every last man is itching to fight. I must say, I'm looking forward to savouring a skirmish or two myself," she finished with an almost viscous grin.

"...Wait. You're coming along?" asked the blue-haired prince, who seemed to be trying his hardest to ignore the pain speaking probably caused.

"Of course! A khan must have her fun. I'm even bringing my insignificant other," she added offhandedly.

Robin tilted his head in question. "Your who?"

She shrugged. "Basilio. The oaf isn't good for much, but he might stop a few stray arrows."

Just as she said that, the grand doors to the throne room behind them swung open, and everyone started as they crashed against the stone walls. Khan Basilio stood at the doors, breathing heavily, as though he'd been running through the entire castle.

"Chrom!" he called, making his way up to them through the gathered militia. "Good gods, I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Is something wrong?" asked the prince.

"Our scouts have reported back. Dark news, I'm afraid..." he said grimly, then spoke the words that had everyone's blood run cold. "Ylisstol...has fallen."

"What?!" Chrom cried, eyes wide with terror.

Basilio continued in the same tone, "The Plegians captured your exalt and retreated back across their lines. Gangrel has declared she's to be publicly executed within the moon."

The prince paled, mouth agape and almost incapable of forming a response. "E-executed?!"

Lissa swayed slightly. "Ooooh…"

Robin and Lon'qu rushed to catch her as the collapsed, the swordsman quickly jerking back before he touched her. "Lissa?" Robin called as he kneeled behind her, shaking the unconscious girl's shoulders. "Lissa!"

"The bastard's not even trying to be subtle anymore," growled Khan Flavia.

Forcing his eyes off the fainted princess, Robin nodded to her. "I agree. It's an obvious trap."

"The Mad King knew our scouts would relay this information back," Khan Basilio stated. "It's clearly a provocation -- a hot brand to the buttocks! We should consider our options carefully before jumping to any--"

"Shepherds!" Chrom ordered, hand clenching Falchion's hilt in an iron grip. It was perhaps all he could do to stop himself from lashing out. "We march to Plegia!"

Khan Basilio loudly cleared his throat. "Well, that would be ONE option, yes... But perhaps we've seen enough royalty waltzing into traps for one war already, eh?"

"I don't care if it's a trap, Basilio," Chrom snapped back, trembling with rage. "He's going to murder my sister!"

Khan Flavia placatingly raised a hand, as though trying to touch him. She adopted a quiet tone. "Peace, Chrom. Breathe a moment. No one's suggesting we don't act. We're simply saying we should act WISELY. We'll need guts AND wits in equal measure if we're to save your sister."

Chrom lowered his head as though in shame, and carefully relaxed his grip on his sword. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then knelt down beside his other unconscious sister.

The half-ghoul couldn't bear it, watching Chrom keep such a firm, desperate eye on Lissa. Despite all wisdom and logic, Robin found himself saying, "The khans are right. I'll think of something, Chrom. I promise."

And as soon as the words left his mouth, Robin knew he was fooling himself.

Even so, the look of conviction Chrom fixated him with, as though the boy had the answer, gave him a little courage. But not much. "...All right, Robin. I leave it to you to formulate our strategy."

"Are you certain you're up to the task, Robin?" He looked up at Khan Flavia, seeing her brow furrowed with worry. "It won't be easy. You hold the exalt's life in one hand, and all of ours in the other."

Robin took deep breaths, trying to clear the fog of uncertainty that had settled over his mind. Yet one look at Chrom, seeing the faith in his eyes, banished the very notion of declining from his mind.

"A responsibility I do not take lightly. But I am equal to the challenge."

She grinned. "Ha ha! You've got stones, at least. I like that!"

"No hesitation, no mincing words... He's either a genius or a fool! I suppose we'll find out once we march," Basilio grumbled, then raised his head and bellowed over the Shepherds, "Hold on to your horses, Ylisseans. We've an exalt to save!"

Robin was not going to delude himself -- overconfidence was the greatest downfall of any war leader. He knew the chances of success were uncertain as of yet, he knew that he had no hope to hold. He was pessimistic, yes, but as a tactician, that made him a realist. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. If they wanted peace, they had to prepare for war.

A genius or a fool, the West-Khan had said. As a modest person, Robin would never call himself a genius. He did what he could, and that was all. All he knew at that moment, was that promising he would save Emmeryn had been a terrible idea. Such a vow among all this uncertainty was nothing short of idiotic.

He was nothing but an idealistic fool, who would pay for such vanity.

* * *

 

"Another succulent meal appears to be awaiting us," a heavily made-up blonde fawned in Chon'sin.

"Indeed, it seems so. You truly grace us with your special treats," a man wearing a pierrot mask agreed.

As Ka'nae translated what they said to King Gangrel, trying his hardest to hold any repulsion he felt out of his voice, he eyed the two guests of Castle Plegia.

Madame A had her hair pulled into one bun on each side of her head, wore a blood-red slitted gown matching her lips with fur lining the collar, and green-tinted goggles to obscure her face. The other man, who had introduced himself as PG, but who Ka'nae knew went by the name of Souta among the Pierrot ghouls, had his entire face covered by a jester-like mask, otherwise wearing formal clothing not dissimilar from Ka'nae's own butler attire, though significantly airier.

"Good," Gangrel spat back. "Of course, I can't let you have it yet."

Again, Ka'nae played the part of interpreter. Although he doubted PG found it entirely necessary, if at all.

That he was reduced to nothing but a lowly dog of the Mad King...Aversa, of all people, Aversa was constantly mocking him.

Speaking of, that harlot had practically draped herself over the king's back, always seductively demanding his attention and manipulating him till she got her way.

No matter what he believed, Gangrel was a weak, weak man.

"I should bring out only the best of my Scrappers," commented Madame A.

People, more often than not humans, raised to slaughter and grill other humans in the Ghoul Restaurant's arena with no mercy and no knowledge of any social or moral principles. All they knew was how to slaughter and rip apart human bodies in the most morbid, mutilating ways possible. Madame A was known to have especially entertaining Scrappers.

Gangrel shook his head in response, a smug grin splitting his ashen face. "No, I have a better idea. Run along now!"

PG grunted in offence, but followed Madame A out of the castle room.

"You too, Ka'nae. Scram! You have your orders!" bellowed the king. The butler managed not to flinch at the underlying threat should he defy.

He gave a small nod in acquiescence.

"Ah ah ah! What did I tell you to call me?" Gangrel growled at the gesture. Ka'nae said nothing. "Well?!" 

"...Yes, Master," he finally ground out, bowing stiffly.

Aversa chuckled, running her long black nails along the king's chin and tilting his head to meet her. Ka'nae swiftly left the room.

"Du wirst niemals mein Meister sein," he hissed in Valmese once the doors shut. (You will never be my master.)

Somehow, he found himself wandering until he reached his room -- tiny and sweltering and dusty with desert heat and sand and stale sweat -- and making the mistake of looking in his small mirror on the dresser.

Ihr Götter (by the gods), he looked like a corpse. His once vibrant skin was either pale or sunburnt, and though he had always been rather slim, his cheeks were a little too hollow for his liking. His pale violet hair, a curl of which fell to the right of his face and brushed his cheekbone, was perpetually sweaty in Plegia. He didn't dare undo his slim bow tie and unbutton his dress shirt after all that had happened. His thick brows lowered over violet eyes as he leaned against the dresser.

"Ihr Götter..." he cursed again, shaking his head. "Was ist denn aus Ka'nae von Rosewald, treuer Diener des Tsukiyama Hauses, geworden...?"

(Just what has become of Ka'nae von Rosewald, loyal servant of the Tsukiyama House...?)

* * *

 

The nature of this council meeting was still unknown to Chrom and the other Shepherds, as was the reason Miriel requested he let her take a blood sample. And so everyone awaited the scholar's words with an air of disquiet.

The carmine-haired mage spread out pages upon pages of documents at the head of the long table. Most of the numbers and rates on them made no sense to Chrom, and others were written with bizarre, complex symbols he could only assume was Chon'sin. And some depicted disturbing anatomical representations which burned themselves into his mind before he could look away.

Finally, Miriel broke the heavy silence.

"As we are preparing to enter Plegia, you no longer have the liberty to remain oblivious to the dangers we shall be confronted with. Are any of you aware of the true nature of ghouls?"

Chrom reeled at the sudden turn, looking round the gathering. He was met with many clueless faces, such as Vaike and Donnel. Others were curious and seemed to know a little on the subject, like Cordelia and Lissa. And finally, the fewest, Frederick and Chrom himself for instance, were wide-eyed and very clearly aware of what ghouls were.

Miriel only hummed in disappointment. "I see the number is more dismal than I had hoped. Then I shall explain, though I warn you that this will not be a graceful lecture," she continued ruthlessly, "Ghouls are creatures which look like humans, and ingest only us."

It took a moment for the meaning of those words to sink in. Once they did, murmurs began to hover around the room, shocked and confused faces turning to see others who were just as startled.

"You may have heard rumours of such creatures, describing their appearance as monstrous, others suggesting they are vampiric. It is imperative that you banish those from your mind! Ghouls are no more magical or fantastical than humans," she stated, then gestured to the documents before her.

"The greatest difference between us lies in a ghoul's internal biology and anatomy. Humans and ghouls alike possess what are called 'Red Child Cells', named for their alikeness in appearance to curled up foetuses and crimson pigmentation. These cells are as malleable as blood, yet can become as solid as teeth. An average human's Rc factor lies between two to five hundred such cells, whereas a ghoul's ranges between one to eight thousand.

"Additionally, ghouls possess a sac-like organ somewhere along their back called a kakuhou. This sac stores the Rc once it has been transferred there through the blood, and from within, the cells can manifest as an appendage known as the ghouls' claws, called a kagune. Once the kagune is released, a ghoul's general physicality also increases in proficiency. In other words, what little chance you may have had in defeating it has been extirpated. The only warning you may have is the ghoul's eyes turning black and red, a chemical reaction of the irises and sclerae with the Rc."

The silence was choking, the fear radiating off the others practically tangible.

Finally, Stahl spoke up meekly, "Can't our weapons damage a ghoul?"

"No. Nothing made of steel or lesser metal will even pierce a ghoul's skin. Though, I cannot say for certain, I expect Falchion might be able to pierce them, as would the Wyrmslayer swords and Beastslayer lances. We cannot defend against kagune, however. Those are only hypotheses. And before you ask, magic can harm ghouls to the same extent as humans. Nevertheless, that statement does not encompass a ghoul's regenerative abilities, also granted by the Rc cells."

Stahl nodded minutely, leaning heavily against the wall, legs trembling.

"I leave the translated documents in Frederick's possession, and I suggest every one of you gives them a thorough review, preferably before we enter Plegia." Miriel neatly gathered the papers into her portfolio and meaningfully placed it on the centre of the table.

"Well, now that we've got that dark shit outta the way," Basilio's voice boomed, shaking everyone out of their shocked dazes, "I'd like to introduce someone to you all. Figured she'd be a good asset to the campaign."

A young woman stepped forward, smiling sweetly with her index finger touching her chin. Her crimson hair was tied into a ponytail and she wore a matching red cape, which had a collar of lightly ruffled red and yellow pointed decorations reminding Chrom of a court jester, a sleeveless top and red trousers. He also noted an iron sword sheathed at her hip.

"Nice to meet you, Your Highnesses. The name's Anna," she said with a small curtsy. "Some folks like to call me the Secret Seller."

Chrom cocked a brow. "Secret Seller of what?"

Another smile. "Well, I could quite easily get my hands on all sorts of rare merchandise, including those Wyrmslayers and Beastslayers you just mentioned." She fixed him sternly with her ruby eyes. "And no, not via black market trade. I just have many connections all over the realm. So, I can be quite useful.

"What kind of connections?" Frederick asked.

"Oh, most of them with my many sisters. All travelling merchants like me! And I can slash more than just prices," she added, gesturing to her steel sword, "so you'll never make a loss with me in tow!"

Frederick scrutinised her a moment longer, before turning to Chrom. "Milord?"

The prince couldn't help but shake his head at the great knight, but smiled back at Anna. "I certainly don't see why we shouldn't bring you with us, as long as you don't rip us off," he half-joked.

The Secret Seller gave him another sweet smile. "Pleasure to help, Your Highness. I guarantee you the best customer service!"

Satisfied, Chrom looked to see if anyone else would speak. When no one moved -- many simply looking down and twiddling their thumbs about ghouls, or observing Anna -- he stepped to the head of the table for a few short words.

"Tomorrow, we leave for the Theocracy of Plegia. I want everyone to wash and rest up. Chances are we won't be able to do that too well in the coming days. I'll see you all in the morning."

After all that had happened -- Ylisstol's fall, the announcement of Emm's execution, their planned infiltration of Plegia and the imminent threat of ghouls -- there wasn't much else he could say.

There was little murmur of discussion as everyone quietly filed out of the war room, the prince joining the group. In the half-light of Castle Ferox' torchlit halls, he almost missed Robin as the boy walked slowly with his Grimleal cowl up.

Though many liked to point out his density, Chrom could tell quite clearly that something was on the tactician's mind. On that thought, he had expected Robin to speak up at least once or twice during the last discussion. With what little they knew of Robin, it was obvious that he had a thirst for information, so surely he would have asked for precise details on the matters. Yet he hadn't. He'd remained deathly silent.

Slowing down and falling into step beside Robin, Chrom waited to see if he could lend an ear. At first, it seemed Robin didn't notice, head still lowered, until everyone else had disappeared out of earshot.

"Hey, Chrom...?" he asked tentatively, not looking up at the man. "What do you think of me, in all honesty? What am I like?"

Out of all the things Chrom had prepared for, that wasn't one. "Huh? Where's this coming from?"

"I don't know... I--" The boy suddenly gave a dry laugh, touching his temple beneath the hood. "I guess that's why -- I don't know. I haven't really gotten another's perspective of me. So far I've just been adopting what others think of someone in particular, not creating an image of my own...I think?"

He tilted his head pensively, and said nothing for a while. Just as Chrom was about to query on the matter, Robin humourlessly laughed again, shaking his head. "Sorry. I guess I'm just overthinking things..."

He picked up his pace, and Chrom realised he hadn't answered the original question. The prince quickly grabbed Robin by the shoulder, stopping them entirely. "No, wait. I..."

After a moment, during which Robin turned to face him and lifted his hood slightly to see up at him, Chrom sighed and met his eyes. "Look, I haven't had much experience with people suffering from amnesia before, I'll admit, but I'm pretty sure what you're feeling is... Well, it can only be normal. Gods, I never even considered how you felt until now..."

The boy's eyes lowered, a glazed appearance swallowing them. "This... Emptiness...? Confusion...?" he murmured, almost too quiet for the prince to hear. Robin swayed softly, and the way he seemed to slur his words a little alarmed Chrom, too. Was that him looking inside of himself? "I look back and see...nothing. It's weird, I guess... And disturbing. Frightening. I really don't know how to describe it... I really just don't know anything."

More like losing himself, Chrom corrected. Robin couldn't be looking inside -- there was nothing to see. He firmly grasped Robin's shoulders.

"Well, to answer your question. I'm probably not the best person to ask about this, but... You're smart, way more intelligent than anybody else here, gentle, maybe a little on the shy, introverted side, but kind to a fault."

Chrom just said the first things that came to mind, but elected not to mention Emmeryn's supposition on the boy's emotional thinking. Only now did he realise just how inconsiderate he had been. Or no. "Inconsiderate" didn't seem like the fitting word, since he simply could not have known to expect this, but, at the same time, that was exactly what he had been. And this indecision was perhaps the closest he would get to understanding how Robin felt then. How he doubtlessly felt all the time.

Fortunately, Chrom's voice and hands on his shoulders seemed to wake Robin from whatever trance he'd pulled himself into. His eyes blinked into focus again, as though that momentary loss of lucidity had never occurred.

"And what about my appearance?" asked the boy, with an innate curiosity perhaps only someone in his situation could have.

Chrom still could not convince himself differently -- those blue-silver eyes were a little creepy. And he knew the rest of Robin's body was just so colourless, as if someone had grabbed a normal boy and dumped him in a tank of bleach. He seemed to take on the colours around him -- dark in the shade of his hood, and glowing orange in the firelight around them. The prince had seen him completely bare in the bath tent before, too; it looked like greenish-blue cracks ran along his body, as though it were about to shatter. Chrom had only realised after a concerning amount of time that those were actually veins, visible beneath the practically translucent skin.

But no one could just say that aloud. "Ah, well... Unique, to be sure," he chose instead. Though by the narrowing of those eyes, he knew he hadn't fooled anyone. "It's not everyday you see an albino."

Another curious tilt of the head. "How does that make others think of me?"

"Um, they'd be interested to approach and get a good look at you, to be certain. But then again, some might be a little wary if they've never heard of someone like you before. And then there's the Grimleal coat, as well." He'd seen Robin get some dirty looks for it, though the albino hadn't seemed to have noticed. Or care if he had. "On that thought, why do you insist on wearing that?"

The question seemed to touch a nerve, as the boy shrunk into the coat and pulled it tightly around himself, dropping the hood over his eyes again. "It's special..." he mumbled, almost too meekly for Chrom to hear, again. "Not so much now that it's been washed once, but still..." He hung his head. "I can't really explain it..."

Chrom tried to keep a smile in his voice. "You don't have to." He reached up and rubbed the back of his head bashfully. "Sorry, that was a bit insensitive on my part, wasn't it?"

Robin leaned towards him minutely and seemed like he wanted to say something, nervously pursing his lips. But after a moment, he shook his head, pulling back.

The last time Chrom remembered seeing him like this had probably been when the boy had first learned of ghouls. That demonic image had only been reinforced since, especially only a few minutes ago. Was Robin afraid now? The prince wouldn't blame him, now that they're heading for Plegia. He'd only heard the worst about that desert, too.

And as those thoughts passed through his mind, Robin turned and took long strides away, leaving Chrom with only the cold stone walls for company.

* * *

 

Nights in Plegia were preferable for travel, being significantly cooler than the heated days, though just as dry. But night was also the time when ghouls were most active. Most people therefore avoided travelling then, other than the Grimleal, who revered ghouls.

However, unlike many other travellers, that was exactly what the two men in formal white Chon'sin kimonos, similar to kendo wear and emblazoned with a dove emblem, wanted. They each carried what appeared to be katana with silver hilts, neither of which decorated and without hand guards, weapons called quinque. The eldest of the pair, Associate Special Class Kousuke, had his black hair slicked back, a couple of locks curling at his forehead. The younger one, Rank 2 Investigator Sei'dou, had his hazelnut hair parted at the centre and brushed to the sides.

Following the CCG's orders, Kousuke had come researching the rumours of the Gourmet in Plegia, and Sei'dou had been assigned with his mentor.

"I feel like I'm being sucked dry..." commented the Junior Investigator, and Kousuke could only agree. While Plegia was infamous for being almost entirely a desert, it wasn't necessarily hotter than any other country in summer. But it was nonetheless dry, to the point where it felt like moisture was being sucked out of their bodies.

Then again, given the high concentration of dark magic practiced throughout the land, it was probably safe to assume that that was exactly what was going on -- the very land, earth, and air having been robbed of all life, deadened with centuries of sacrificial, abyssal curses. 

"Let's keep moving," reminded the Associate Special Class Investigator.

"Sir!"

They had been following the rumours of a sudden spike in predations starting in the south of Plegia. The victims seemed to tend towards young, reasonably attractive male Grimleal followers. This chain led from a long time spent in the south, gradually heading northwards. The presence of ghoul saliva and Rc secretions had been confirmed.

Still, though the mission had been for the S-rated Gourmet, Kousuke had doubts. There had never been any confirmed sightings of the Gourmet in Plegia. They could only assume that it had found an interesting new prey to hunt, but the ceaseless slaughtering made no sense. There had been a single possible sighting of the Gourmet in recent years, but other sources suggested it may have been the Twister.

"Another site, just like the villagers said," whispered Sei'dou, just as it came into view. They raised their guard, hands ever-ready to grab their quinque should another ghoul be attracted by the smell of the vast blood-stained sand and rotten corpses.

The area had a few sparse rocks and bones, which could become useful when looking into the predator's behaviour. The two corpses were mutilated beyond recognition, limbs and viscera strewn about as though a pack of wild beasts had torn into it.

"Sei'dou, look about the area. I'll note these down," Kousuke ordered, grabbing a notebook, inkwell, and quill from his pack, still alert.

When the Rank 2 Investigator said nothing in response, the Senior Investigator looked up from his noting. Sei'do seemed thoughtful, scrutinising the corpses and nearby rocks in turn.

"Investigator Kousuke," he eventually started, "the Gourmet is a koukaku-type, right?"

His mentor frowned at that, slowly closing his notebook and keeping an intent gaze on his apprentice. "Have you noticed something?"

The man nodded and knelt beside a corpse. "Koukaku are heavy kagune, mostly defensive, but these men look like they were torn apart."

He gestured to what appeared to be a tome beneath the dismembered man. "These people weren't defenceless, but such an intense use of kagune to kill them still seems unnecessary, doesn't it? Perhaps it hates Grimleal, which we haven't confirmed as part of the Gourmet's characteristics...?"

Kousuke hummed in agreement, as another piece of evidence caught his eyes. "And what else?"

Sei'dou looked back down at the corpse. "Then there are the kagune markings themselves." He pointed along a laceration, rough and splayed out as though the exit wound of a stab, but which went across the man's chest as a broad slash. "This looks to have been caused by a coarse weapon -- a rinkaku."

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Kousuke complimented.

The young man hastily saluted. "Th-thank you, sir!"

"So, following this new definite evidence which does not match the Gourmet's profile -- young, male, Grimleal targets, unnecessarily intense offence suggesting negative emotional ties, and the apparent use of a rinkaku..." he summarised. "Given that there is still an unusually large amount of predations, we know of one ghoul that more closely matches this evidence."

Sei'dou shrugged, "This can't be one I've seen, Investigator Kousuke."

The older man fished out a portfolio of documents and paged through them. "I didn't expect you to know this one. This ghoul has been occasionally cropping up since its greatest activity spree some sixteen years ago, but it has never seemed as severe as this."

He held out the desired file to the younger Investigator.

"S-rated Binge Eater," Sei'dou read carefully.

"Our case seems to have reached a dead end," Kousuke stated, turning away from the scene of massacre. "We'll report our findings to the CCG. The rest is up to Special Class Yukinori."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't end up displaying the poll on my  ff.net profile... That's kinda silly. Why didn't you tell me?!  
>    
> So, I'm not dead. But I've been distracted by tests, then by working on some other things. Namely, completing the plotline for an original story I want to write, and also coming up with another story basis! I'll probably only post the prologues, first chapters, and a preview for each on FictionPress, Wattpad, and AO3. I really want these books and their frankly ruthless messages (critiques) to reach more than just online readers.  
>    
> So, Kousuke Houji, Seidou Takizawa, and Yukinori Shinohara come into play now. Just saying the full names for those who didn't recognise the characters.  
>    
> Anyway, I'm using the Pierrot instead of the Clowns, given that the latter wouldn't work well in this setting. And yes, Valmese is German in this fic. BUT DON'T MISUNDERSTAND! I think we can all agree that "Wolfberg" and "Fort Steiger" are intended to be Germanic. If you're gonna complain, complain to Nintendo's localisation team, not to me for working with what I have.  
>    
> „Ihr Götter“ is how "by the gods" was localised for the game. And unlike so many other fanfictions with Kanae or other non-English-speaking characters in them, I ACTUALLY SPEAK FRENCH AND GERMAN rather than using Google Translate and ending up with horrendous cases of lost in translation or false conjugation or lack of accents or umlauts etc, etc! So, after that mini rant, if there are any mistakes left, I apologise! I've been studying German for about nine years (C1), but anything involving the dreaded word „Kasus“ I cannot be expected to know -- I'm hopeless at those! (Which is why I'll ask my teacher to look over these few German sentences if possible, and the same goes for French.)  
>    
> Also, some of you might know that there was an apparent typo in one chapter where his name was spelled "Rosenwald" instead of "Rosewald". The name is supposed to mean "forest of roses", but in the second spelling, it would be singular "forest of rose". So actually, that "typo" was a correction. Then again, this is a name, so Ishida could have just got away with it, I think.


	15. The Grimleal

A desert would already be bone-dry with withering heat. The fact that the Shepherds travelled to the Plegian capital during the middle of summer did not help matters. It felt like they were being sucked until they were crisps, desperate for reprieve in the form of water and coolness. The need to stop and camp at every oasis they found also made their movements limited and extremely predictable.

Unfortunately, they had to save as much water as possible, and being in enemy territory meant they could not strip their armour. Stahl, Sully, Kellam, and Frederick therefore suffered immensely. Miriel, Ricken, Vaike, and Robin were having the easiest time, the mages able to wear light robes, Vaike never wearing a shirt anyway, and Robin seeming to prove his ethnicity. The Grimleal coat he wore, despite its weight and dark colour, apparently shaded and cooled him, and the hood kept the sun from hitting any other exposed skin. As an albino, he would otherwise burn horribly regardless of Plegian blood.

Chrom couldn't help but feel envious to the pegasus knights, as well. Though purely for reconnaissance, Cordelia and Sumia could ride their pegasi and enjoy the wind without having sand kicked up into their mouths, noses, and eyes. They also did not have to suffer the trek across the desert on foot, Sumia looked stunning with the wind combing her mouse-coloured locks -- gods, the heat was making Chrom lose focus.

Precious little of the paved road was visible beneath the shifting sand, making it especially difficult for mounted or armoured soldiers marching on foot. He supposed he should consider himself lucky that they were only a small force composed of the Shepherds. Khan Flavia and her most trusted soldiers stayed a little further back, so as to not alert the enemy. Basilio had taken his half of the Feroxi army down a route further east, following the scouts' evidence of the surviving pegasus knights, including Phila, being held outside of the Plegian capital.

All things considered, they were making good progress and covering plenty of ground in the time they had. There was just one particular matter that disquieted Chrom.

"I'd like to believe it's our cunning that got us this far without being spotted..." he started speaking to Robin beside him, at the head of the group. Only Frederick and the pegasus knights preceded them. "But we've seen far too little of the Plegian Guard. Where are they? Whatever trap Gangrel has planned, he is in no hurry to spring it."

Robin gave a nondescript hum.

"Not to mention I'd have thought we'd have encountered at least one ghoul so far, given how they thrive in Plegia. There haven't been any Risen sightings, either," he continued, "not so much as a rumour... I suppose I should be thankful, but it's still disconcerting."

"Captain!" Sumia called, she and Cordelia swooping down on their pegasi to land before them. "It looks like there's some sort of conflict just south from here, between three small settlements."

"Understood. Frederick!" As summoned, the great knight loyally came to his liege. "Get everyone ready to move."

Frederick bowed in response, then warned, "These desert sands are certain to bog down our soldiers, milord. Only mages and fliers will likely be able to proceed unhindered."

Chrom nodded. "Good point. I'll keep it in mind. Robin, let's discuss strategy."

The tactician nodded, eyes hidden by the cowl pulled down over them. "Let's see what exactly is going on first."

Agreeing, Chrom led the troops to follow the path until they reached the area Sumia had described. Through the haze of the dry desert, Chrom could still distinguish a small settlement to the east, southeast, and southwest ahead, each one with its own protective wall of sandstone.

In the centre of it all, a strange girl was panting with her hands on her knees. Her thick hair, pulled into a ponytail, was bright yellow with jade ends. Her little baby-pink cape billowed in the wind, her equally dainty outfit a mix of pinks, purples, and a top resembling green dragon scales covering her chest. From this distance, she looked barely twelve.

That is, until Chrom noted her elongated, slightly dropping, pointed ears.

She straightened, still huffing. "Have... Have I lost him?"

A middle-aged, rust-haired man clad in simple clothes various shades of brown and khaki suddenly ran up to her, his shoulder guard harshly reflecting the sunlight as his steel sword did.

"Wait, I say!" he called in a throaty voice and gravelly accent. "Why you no comprehending, wee one?"

"AUGH! GET AWAY!" the girl shrieked, scampering away. "Everyone just leave me ALONE!"

The man hastily shushed her, his strong northern accent only making him more intimidating for her. "Please, be keeping down with the voice! You give away position! Very bad!"

"My throat is dry, my shoes are full of sand, and some big weirdo is trying to KILL ME!" she cried, close to tears.

"Oi, you break Gregor's heart! Why you treat like villain?" he asked, "r"s rolled.

And Chrom had had enough. "You there! Fiend! Keep your hands off that maiden!"

The man looked towards him. "Who is fiend? ...You mean Gregor?" He pointed dumbly to his chest, then waved frantically in denial. "No, friend! You have idea wrong!"

"Yeah, right!" Lissa growled. "...Creep!"

Gregor shook his head helplessly. "This day has been nothing but insults and punches to groin. And all for doing good deed! Listen, friend! Gregor only want to--"

"Gotcha, you slippery scamp!" a man called from further south, and Chrom's blood ran cold.

He wore the headdress of a priest, and the revealing robes of violet, ebony, and sheer, all lined with gold rings and bones, marking him a dark mage. His companions, a dozen other dark mages, wore the similar robes, but used the skulls of herbivores on their heads to shield them from the sun's rays.

However, they all bore the sigil of the fell dragon on their cloaks. Three eyes each down two curved branches, which intertwined at the base of the emblem.

They were Grimleal, worshippers of humanity's sworn destroyer.

"Prepare for a dose of Grima's wrath," the priest sneered, revealing a violet tome from within his cloak -- Flux, dark magic.

Gods damn it.

"Oy, this is most terrible!" Gregor exclaimed, turning back to the prince. The girl only stared. "Do you see now? They make with the catching of us!"

Chrom looked to Robin briefly, but he remained silent, eyes flickering back and forth across the terrain. The blue-haired royal then turned his attention back to the strange altercation. "Why are you all after the girl?"

"All? What is this 'all'? Gregor is not one of 'all'!" Gregor leaned forward. "Look close! Maybe you not see from so far? Gregor have innocent baby-face!"

Chrom could only look at the wrinkles on the rugged mien, humming almost pensively.

"Well…" Lissa murmured.

"Yeah... Not sure 'innocent baby' is what I'd call it..." Robin murmured distractedly.

Seeing his appeal in broken Ylissean tongue had fallen flat, the man waved it off. "Gah! Never be minding! Gregor is not enemy! You must believe!"

Looking between him, the girl, and the Grimleal, Chrom could only sigh. "...This is making my head hurt. We'll sort him out later. Right now, we need to protect the girl."

The one in question perked up slightly, teary plum-coloured eyes glimmering with hope. "Y-you're going to help me?"

Chrom nodded. "We'll do everything in our power to keep you safe. Just hold on, and we'll drive them off!"

Only as Gregor unsheathed his iron sword, taking a simple stance between the girl and the Grimleal, did he notice the palm-sized, gleaming green stone in the her grasp. By Naga, it couldn't be...

"Sumia! Cordelia!" Robin's command broke his wonder. "Could you hurry and warn the villages of the danger?"

"On it, Robin!" Sumia responded, spurring her mount into the air.

Cordelia nodded dutifully, before doing the same. "Right away!"

"Ricken, Miriel, and Lissa, we're on the front lines! Everyone else, focus on keeping up whilst staying out of our enemy's range."

"Wait, wait! Lissa can't go on the front lines!" Chrom exclaimed frantically, staring at Robin's shadowed face as though he'd lost it. "She's a cleric! She can't defend herself yet!"

"Exactly," Robin responded, apparently unfazed by the outburst.

The deadpan gave the prince pause. "What?"

"Our enemies are only mages, which means they could do the most harm to Frederick, Kellam, Vaike, and you."

"My mana gives me resistance to magic," his sister continued from behind them, clutching her staff. "You'd keel over before I do, this time."

"We mages can move faster through the sands, anyway," Robin concluded. "Of course, the same applies in reverse, so you stay further back with the others. We need our physical fighters in perfect health if you're to strike down our opponents quickly. Dark mages are tougher than the ordinary type. That's what makes them dangerous...other than the obvious." Leaving no time for a response, Robin called back to the group. "Panne, how can you proceed in taguel form?"

The rabbit-woman grasped her Beaststone, as large as her palm with a purple glow to it. She dropped onto all fours and a stony mound encased her body, before it cracked and her armoured rabbit form shattered it. She tested her footing on the sand.

"I should be able to keep up with you, Robin," she answered eventually, eyes glowing red and her voice warped as though she were growling into an echo chamber.

And since when did she refer to anyone by a name other than "man-spawn"?

"Now, Chrom," the tactician ordered impatiently, taking out a new tome of his, Elthunder, and motioning for the others to proceed cautiously.

Chrom hastily grabbed his tactician's shoulder. "I know, but...these enemies..." Bearing the fell dragon's sigil. The Grimleal. Robin's origin, as a victim or member. The ones who had branded him with Grima's sigil, no doubt. "Just stay where I can see you, okay?"

He got a short hum in response. "Fair enough."

The Shepherds were then quickly moving southwards, or as quickly as the bulk of their forces could. Chrom had to work twice as hard if he was to keep up with the mages and Robin. The Grimleal, save their leader, had also chosen to advance, heading straight for Gregor and the unnamed yellow-and-green-haired girl.

Despite his apparent thickness, Gregor was surprisingly sharp, dodging the first plume of buzzing, violet dark magic appearing from a sigil beneath his feet. Having warned the three villages, who had shut their gates in response, the two pegasus knights were also engaging one Grimleal each per flank of the dozen dark mages, their mounts allowing for quick escapes and their magical resistance blunting the enemy's attacks that did land.

An Elfire from Miriel bursting a Grimleal's torso distracted him from Gregor only briefly, before he raised his hand towards the girl.

Chrom gritted his teeth, grasping Falchion and hoping against hope, when the girl raised her stone, its glow brightening.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" she screeched, giant, rose pink petals engulfing her small body, tightening their wrap, before bursting apart and fading in a flash of azure light.

Where the girl had once been, a slender buttercup-yellow dragon double the size of a transformed taguel had taken her place. Its wings looked as if lined with emerald petals that shimmered turquoise; three adorning the end of her long tail, lining her forearms and legs, and two more on each side of her slim, elongated head. Her jaw was lined with teeth that could puncture steel, her curved talons like polished ivory, and scarlet eyes glowing with rage.

"YOU STUPID BULLY!!" Her voice, however petulant, echoed with power much like Panne's. Yet unlike a beastly growl, it was more a sound demanding reverence and promising godly retribution.

She then pushed herself onto her hind legs and reared her head back, maw wide, flaring her wings and ear-like adornments in anger and her tail whipping predatorily. The Grimleal barely had a chance to scream and Gregor rushed out of the way as she spewed icy, divine flames upon the enemy, freezing and burning them all at once.

"By the gods..."

In his awe, Chrom ran into another body, knocking them both forwards. He made to impale his assaulted with Falchion, only to pause when he saw it was Robin.

Sweat was running down the sides of his face, silver eyes wide with fear and mouth agape as though he were silently screaming. He had his tome clutched firmly against his chest, fingers trembling as he stared at the sacred reptile before them.

"T-the girl is a...a dragon!" he barely whispered, raising his hand as though to cast Elthunder.

Chrom firmly grasped the boy's arm, moving into his line of sight. Whatever was going on with him he couldn't know for certain, but Robin was clearly terrified. He had no idea of what was happening, and how fantastic this opportunity could be.

"She's a manakete..." said the prince, barely containing the honour he felt to witness her. "I never thought I'd see one."

On second thought, that still meant nothing to Robin. But Chrom's tone seemed to do the trick, or at least reassure the boy of their safety. He calmed, though only marginally, and no longer looked like he was about to cry out in horror and blindly attack.

"P-perhaps she doesn't need our help so much as...we could use hers..." Chrom could tell that astute tone was poorly faked, but figured it would be best not to call Robin out on that.

He turned to look over the battlefield again. If he could even call it that. The manakete had taken flight and was obliterating the Grimleal's ranks, the few physical Shepherds who had caught up reaping those who remained, leaving them little to no time to cast any spell in retaliation. Sumia and Cordelia were making short work of the enemy from the other side of their ranks, as Robin had predicted. The swordsman, Gregor, showed a prowess the prince hadn't at all expected with his apparent age -- probably passing his fifties -- but should have considered if the Grimleal also saw him as a threat.

Chrom was suddenly shoved to the side, as violet flames burst forth and hit Robin's tome, being used as a shield where the prince had just been.

"Back off!" growled the albino, briefly glancing at Chrom before beginning to page through his Elthunder tome, reciting the chant beneath his breath.

Chrom looked ahead, only to see the Grimleal priest cackle as he prepared another Flux spell. "Ha ha! You dare defy Grima, god of annihilation?"

With Robin still preoccupied with the spell, Chrom crossed the short distance between them and the priest. The Flux spell had a shorter chant, as the man seemed ready to cast long before Robin. The prince prepared to dodge, but he had no idea of where the spell would hit once completed.

A cry of "Coming through!" was his only warning, before a pegasus nosedived behind the Grimleal, allowing Sumia to slash the him down his back with her iron lance.

With the incantation interrupted, Chrom slashed him across the chest as Sumia spurred her mount back into flight.

"ELTHUNDER!" Robin screeched, and Chrom rushed to the side as magic sigils opened up above the Grimleal and a golden lightning bolt struck him down. The magic-powered electricity flashed across the sand, the sparks dangerously wild for a magic spell.

The battered and bleeding priest collapsed, dropping the Flux tome. He coughed, turning his head to the heavens.

"Master Grima...my life force...is yours..." he wheezed out with his dying breaths, shakily reaching up a hand. "May your...sacred Children...p-purge those of...Naga's..."

Sumia landed her pegasus again as he fell limp, first looking at Chrom, then Robin as Lissa approached, Heal staff at the ready. A quick look confirmed that the battle was over, and the others were moving to gather around the Shepherds' leader.

"Shouldn't Elthunder have been more focused than that?" Sumia asked, brows knitted with worry. "That lightning went all over the place."

"I..." Chrom looked in time to see Robin sway where he stood, before abandoning his tome on the sand and resting his hands against his knees, trying to catch his breath. "Hoo... Gimme a second..."

As Lissa placed a hand on Robin's nape beneath his hood and hair, the prince frowned. "What's wrong?"

Lissa, apparently satisfied with what she sensed at his nape, withdrew her hand. "Mana requires concentration and a calm mind at the moment of casting." As she answered, she still kept her hands on the tactician's shoulders to steady him. "Robin got upset, and that made him lose control. With a new spell he isn't used to, at that."

"Upset?" Chrom parroted.

Sumia hesitated a little before she spoke, clipping her iron lance onto the side of her saddle. "That WAS a bit of a close call, Captain. If I hadn't intervened..."

Oh. So that's why Lissa had felt Robin's nape, where the spinal cord was close to the skin -- it was the easiest way to sense the state of someone's mana, if he remembered correctly. "Sorry, Robin."

The boy tried to scoff between pants, but didn't look up from his boots. "Just don't do that again."

Lissa giggled lightly. "It's just a little shock to the system. A bit of rest and he'll be good as new."

A flash of azure light momentarily blinded the Shepherds, who turned to see the manakete revert to humanoid form, clutching her Dragonstone to her chest.

"This is just the worst. Day. EVER!" she sobbed, plopping herself down on the sand.

"Ho now, wee one!" Gregor called, sheathing his sword and kneeling before the girl. "Do not make with the crying of tears. The evil people are now dead people. This is good, no?"

The girl blinked tears out of her plum-coloured eyes, sniffling. "You... You're right. Th-thank you. And... I'm sorry I was so mean to you earlier. I just get nervous around people who are...outside my age group."

"Your age group? Ha!" The swordsman grinned broadly, deepening wrinkles along his cheeks. "Gregor much closer to your age than others here!"

"Say, um...Gregor, was it?" Chrom asked. "Gregor, do you mind looking after her? We need to press on."

Gregor stood and seemed to contemplate that for a second. "Mmm... Gregor is mercenary, yes? Maybe you hire Gregor instead. True, Gregor just finish killing former employers, but still very reliable! So long as you not try to hurt little girl, Gregor will not hurt you. Also, Gregor need steady income. ...Many angry former employers," he added.

Chrom cocked a brow. "You're a sellsword?"

The man's face lit up. "Yes! Very swell sword! Cost performance very high. You have Gregor's word."

He didn't exactly see any disadvantages, so Chrom held out his hand for the mercenary to shake. "Sure, why not? You're hired."

As they sealed the contract, the manakete squealed,"But! But what about me?! I WON'T go back on the auction block!"

Lissa's eyes widened. "Wait. You've been sold? Like a...like a slave?!" she exclaimed.

The manakete nodded solemnly, a sombre look beyond her apparent age shading her eyes. "To men more despicable than you can possibly imagine. They made me transform for them... They drank and laughed and called out tricks…"

Lissa strutted over, inadvertently dragging Robin -- who still looked a little wobbly -- with her, and knelt down to look at the small manakete. "What kind of scumbags buy and sell a little girl?! Even if she CAN turn into a dragon…"

"She may be little, milady, but not nearly so young as you might think," Frederick informed, a satisfied smile forming. "Manaketes live a very long time."

"Really?" After a moment, Lissa looked back at the 'girl'. "...How old are you?"

The manakete seemed to ponder that for a moment, fidgeting. "Oh, I dunno. ...A thousand...something? But look! No wrinkles!"

For a moment, the blonde and the tactician sat completely stunned, before Lissa laughed it off. "What's your name? I'm Lissa, and this is Robin!"

Ignoring Robin's still shocked expression, the manakete beamed at Chrom's sister. "Wait, are you the Princess of Ylisse?"

The cleric nodded. "Yep. Chrom's my older brother, and Emmeryn's my sister!"

Eyes alight with childish excitement, the manakete threw her small body onto Lissa in a hug, pulling Robin into it. "I'm Nowi! It's nice to meet you, Princess Lissa and Mister Robin!"

Frederick, apparently taking as much pity on the tired, confused boy as Chrom did, explained, "The dragonkin are said to be more resilient than men -- much like ghouls, only significantly kinder. Nowi would make a strong ally. Besides, we cannot risk her falling back into the hands of the Grimleal."

Robin blinked in question. "Beg pardon, but the Grimleal are followers of the fell dragon... Grima. Right?"

The great knight gave a curt nod. "The selfsame dragon the first exalt, the Hero-King Marth, defeated a thousand years ago. Even today there are some who yearn for the fiend's return. They also revere ghouls as 'Grima's Children', and sacrifice many to them. That's the greatest reason why Grimaspawn thrive in Plegia."

Robin seemed to ponder this for a moment, pinching the edge of his cowl. "I...see."

"Captain! Lady Lissa!" Cordelia called for attention, her pegasus slowing to a halt beside the prince. "One of the villages gave us a gift as thanks. He said someone with enough power can reach people from far away with it..."

From the clip of her saddle, she took a golden staff, the end of which had an aquamarine fist-sized orb with a flattened golden ring around it, the top part open.

"That, my dears, is a Physic staff," Maribelle explained from atop her brown mare. "With enough mana, it indeed allows a healer to treat someone from a distance. To do so with a normal staff such as Heal or Mend would be extremely inefficient, and painful. I shall take it upon myself to wield it."

Cordelia nodded, passing the troubadour the new staff. She then turned her attention back to the captain, but made no eye contact.

"Prince Chrom, I also asked about the nearest convenient camping area, and they recommended the space around their own well just east from here."

"That's good, as long as they don't mind." Chrom smiled. "Thanks, Cordelia."

As he turned away, he heard her stammer breathlessly, "Not at all, My Prince...!"

He looked over his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Her face was extremely flushed, but she waved him off. "A-ah! No! No, Sir! My Prince! Just the desert heat getting to me, I think!"

Chrom gave Lissa a look, but she only shook her head in exasperation.

* * *

He checked his butler outfit was as pristine as should be, feeling the daggers (Quinque steel -- metal imbued with liquified kagune to pierce ghoul skin) in the inner pockets of his tailcoat.

Slipping on the white domino mask with lash-like details around the eyes, he followed the concentration of human scents carried across the sands, the way bloodied.

Ka'nae had his orders: confirm the Emblem's presence, and eliminate all obstacles, witnesses, and the albino in the old Grimleal coat.

However adverse he was to the Mad King.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Why did you write a Fire Emblem fanfic if your battle scenes suck, Anichame?!"
> 
> I'd like to know that myself. I am not happy with this chapter, but I suppose few in the fandom really ever are. It's undisputed filler.
> 
> Well, I'm on DeviantArt as "anichame" now, for whoever's interested in my art. The page is still pretty empty right now, but it'll fill up soon enough with concept art for my fanfics and books I plan to write... "Soon" is a relative term.
> 
> I've been writing this and the next chapter in tandem, so the newest update shouldn't take as long as this did. It's pretty much good to go, but some things might do well to see some slight changes. Still not promising anything, though. I think you've learnt enough about my update schedule so far.
> 
> I.e.: There is none!


	16. Die verwelkte Blüte

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT! This is the second chapter posted in a row! Make sure you've read "The Grimleal" first!!
> 
> The German title means "The Wilted Bloom".
> 
> Ich entschuldige mich im Voraus für irgendwelche Grammatikfehler! Im Moment sind Sommerferien also kann ich nichts überprüfen lassen. Nichtsdestotrotz bin ich recht zufrieden mit was ich geschrieben habe.
> 
> And though I mentioned I wouldn't change that name despite the incorrect spelling, the GFG is impossible for me not to rectify.

A sudden mana drain was something Robin knew to be wary of. While it presented no immediate danger, it left the user weary from the loss, open to attack. That was why magic users had to remain calm and focused, relatively speaking, when casting a spell. It was also why Robin found himself being shaken awake from the light doze he'd entered, his head only held by his hand above the crates that formed his makeshift desk.

Stretching the sleep from his back, Robin blinked as he saw the dragon-shifter, the manakete, staring down at him with a broad grin. Her body was so small that she barely reached his chest when he stood at full height, and even with him sitting on his bedroll she was only a head taller.

"Nowi?" he asked, looking at her in suspicion. If manaketes were Naga's Children, and ghouls Grima's counterparts, what did that make them?

"I won't tell anyone," said the girl, making it sound like a promise.

He blinked dumbly at her. Did she already know? How? "Excuse me?"

"I won't tell anyone," she whispered, leaning towards him, "that you're a ghoul."

He scrambled up, trying to stand to his tallest in the small tent he shared with Stahl and Lon'qu, who were fortunately both absent. Nowi simply watched with slight amusement, no signs of being intimidated in how she held herself or even her scent. Despite her apparent age and childishness, her millennium of knowledge and experience was definitely showing itself.

"How do you know?" he eventually asked, cautiously observing her and nostrils flaring as he smelled the air.

She beamed even more brightly, if that was even possible. "Call it a sixth sense, but I can always tell when one is around me. Buuuuuut..." She narrowed her eyes slightly, almost scrutinising him with her head tilted. "It's fainter around you, almost as if you only hang out around them. But then, others here would be the same, so I know you are one. Just...different. I want to know why!"

The way manaketes perceived ghouls was certainly different from how they, or taguel, sensed a ghoul's presence then, unrelated to scent. She wasn't wrong in believing he'd been "hanging out" with ghouls, though that term was far too friendly. There was a reason the Shepherds had yet to encounter any ghouls -- Chrom couldn't be further off the mark in believing they were just lucky.

But still, the ghouls he'd battled always expressed surprise when he unleashed his kagune, belied by his entirely human scent. They didn't all seem to know about "mythical" one-eyed ghouls either.

But Nowi said she definitely sensed the ghoul in him, and had no intentions of revealing him. Nothing about her scent indicated a lie, either.

He just couldn't read her, and that was aggravating.

He changed his left eye into the black-and-red kakugan, then leaned forward until he stared straight down at her.

"You definitely won't tell anyone?" he growled lowly. Nowi tensed, a pulse of fear entering her scent. Before it was overridden by excitement.

"Oh my goodness, a one-eyed ghoul!" she whisper-shouted, wriggling with enthusiasm. "I promise, I'll never ever EVER tell anyone! And if you don't believe me, I can show you!" She then grabbed his arm, pulling him out of his tent and into the darkened camp. "Black coffee works, right?"

Was his ability to digest coffee not a unique trait? He felt himself nod.

She pulled him into the mess tent's kitchen area, calling out, "Black coffee for Robin, please!"

"Again, huh?" Ricken, apparently the one on kitchen duty that day, asked. "Leave it to me!"

His pointed blue mage hat bobbed as he moved about the kitchen, fetching ground coffee beans, filtering paper, a funnel, and the boiling kettle from the fire just outside.

The boy hurried back in, stuffed the filter paper the funnel, that into the pot he procured, haphazardly shook the grinds into it, and was about to pour the boiling water into it at a far too steep angle.

"Wait, Ricken!" Robin warned, striding over and grabbing the kettle from his hands. The boy cried as he held it out of his reach (a task achievable even with his own short stature), ignoring his burning fingers. "You can't make good coffee like that! I knew there was something wrong with it."

The rust-haired boy pouted. "I've done it before. Even Stahl approved!"

Robin frowned, spitting, "How can you call that coffee? It's prepared so carelessly!"

"What's going on here?" called a voice entering the tent. All three turned to see Chrom walking in, Stahl following close behind.

"Did I just hear my name?" asked the olive cavalier in turn.

"Robin says the coffee's being done wrong!" Nowi announced, swinging her legs as she sat on a supply crate. "But Ricken says he's following the recipe."

Chrom cocked a brow, Stahl glancing over at the setup Ricken had prepared. Robin slowly lowered the kettle from beyond the boy's reach.

"Seems alright to me," said the cavalier, glancing at Robin gingerly.

The half-ghoul growled, "No way! The filter isn't folded properly, the beans aren't properly ground, and you can't just pour the water! You must be more careful!"

Stahl backed up a little at his rant, and Robin remained silent for a moment as his words caught up to him. He set the kettle down on the table, turned, and leaned his back against the wood, only then realising how severely his forehead throbbed.

"What the hell?" he murmured. Was he some kind of connoisseur? That seemed far too out-of-character, even for an amnesiac like him. It was entirely unrelated to any other piece of knowledge that had remained from before Chrom. Yet the words had come to him just as simply -- just as unconsciously -- as his knowledge of tactics, swordsmanship and spell-casting. "What...the hell..."

Even without looking up, the thick silence told him Chrom, Stahl, Ricken, and Nowi were at a loss for words, the manakete more likely for lack of understanding than shock. While his amnesia was public knowledge, he didn't expect her to have already been told after barely a few hours among them.

"Soooo... Why don't we try your way? See if that's better?" Chrom spoke unusually softly, and only then did Robin notice he had the table in a hard, trembling grip.

"Yeah," he managed, forcing his fingers to let go of the wood one digit at a time.

He faced the counter again, looking at the mess of a coffee setup. The uneven grind couldn't be helped, cheap as it was, so he settled with pouring it back into the sack as he fixed the filtering paper, folding it into a cone shape with an ease that was second nature. The creased paper wouldn't be as neat as he'd have liked, but it would do for now, with everything being rationed.

Behind him, he heard Ricken explaining his memory loss to the ever-curious Nowi, and saw Stahl mouth something suspiciously like "talk to him" to the prince out of the corner of his eye. He'd guessed right, as Chrom walked over to him as he was setting the paper back in the funnel and scooping just the right measure of coffee grinds into the cone.

"That does look neater," Chrom commented idly, clearly having no idea what to actually say.

The kettle was still warm enough, so he picked it up and carefully began pouring the boiling water into the cone in a circular motion. He watched the coffee beans darken with moisture, the smell of the coffee wafting up and soothing his nose from the many stenches of the camp, kitchen, and Chrom.

The blue-haired man chuckled. "You should see your face."

Robin could feel the stupid smile, but couldn't find the heart to wipe it from his face. He let the smell calm him and the muscle memory guide his movements. He honestly hadn't felt this carefree since Emmeryn had left.

His grip shook, and he groaned as he set the kettle down. "Now, I've jinxed it..."

"What, the coffee? How?" Chrom asked.

Robin shook his head. "Not the coffee, just... Never mind. Would you like to try this?"

He heard Chrom agree to try as he fetched a couple of mugs, then a couple more when Stahl and Ricken expressed their curiosity.

He poured them each a careful cup, not much, and found himself eagerly anticipating their verdict as they each took a sip.

Ricken grimaced, before shovelling sugar cubes and milk into his. "No black coffee for me!"

Stahl, on the other hand, clapped Robin on the back. "My friend, this is definitely way better than what I've been making so far, even with better beans. Much more flavour!"

Chrom hummed. "I don't know anything about coffee, really. But I can tell this is definitely different. Good different!" he added hastily.

"You're chief coffee maker from now on," Ricken announced once he'd taken another sip.

Thanking them and smiling graciously, Robin raised his own slightly fuller cup to his lips. The coffee filled his senses again, and he leaned back against the table to enjoy it.

From further back, Nowi giggled, "You're making that silly face again!" She hopped down from the crate and bounced up to the others. "Should we go to the campfire?"

The prince grinned. "Right, of course." To Robin, "Mind if we let the others try this?"

The half-ghoul shrugged, his attention again on Nowi. He'd become sidetracked from his original reason of letting her pull him out of his tent -- she knew, and had said she was going to prove her sincerity when she claimed to not tell a soul.

"Go ahead," he told the prince, following the manakete as she bounced out of the tent.

He heard Chrom and Stahl grab the pot and follow, Ricken staying behind to finish his duties.

"This is what I bet ghouls look like!" he heard Lissa say as they neared the fire pit. Lon'qu's scent was near, too, as he guarded her from a distance.

"Darling, remember that ghouls look like humans? That's why they're dangerous," Maribelle answered, just as they came close enough to see her holding a grotesque sketch as far away from herself as possible. Robin could discern black blotches he could only assume to be kakugan eyes, a face pulled into a morbid snarl, and octopus-like tentacles twisting behind it.

A rinkaku kagune did not look like that. It was most easily described as tentacles, but they didn't have those sucker...things.

By then, everyone had read Miriel's notes on ghouls, and the knowledge their true capabilities had quashed any rumours many had believed before. This had also made ghouls the main conversation topic around camp. That was another reason Robin often excused himself from conversations, especially when his opinion was asked. Wanting to work on strategies was a well-worn pretence.

He felt Nowi nudge him, and he numbly sat down on Lissa's other side, the manakete settling on the edge of the bench. Gregor groaned as he sat down on the other, opposite them, looking at Lissa's depiction with contempt.

"Young ones be knowing nothing about ghouls. Very bad," he growled, then punched his chest. "Gregor smash many ghouls."

"You've fought some?!" exclaimed Vaike, leaning forward beside the middle-aged mercenary.

"What were they like?" Stahl asked from Chrom's side as the swordsman placed the pot near the fire.

"Ghouls be dangerous opponents," said the rust-haired man simply. "'Do or die,' yes?"

Nowi grumbled and plopped down, standing as tall before Robin as her small body would allow, almost like she was trying to shield him. "Hey! Don't just say ghouls are all big meanies!"

Robin tried his hardest to school his expression in the time it took for others to digest the words. Of all the possibilities, one of the manakete, Naga's Children, would defend a ghoul, a Spawn of Grima? He couldn't say he knew the weight those titles for them carried, but surely this was beyond blasphemous on her part... Right? Wouldn't instinct force her to obliterate him on sight rather than defend him?

Eventually, Gregor said, "They make with the eating of us."

Lissa nodded. "Like he said, it's kill or be killed."

Nowi turned to fix her with an unnaturally sharp look, when combined with her pout.

"They can't help that! They can't help that they can only eat humans." She whipped around, her yellow and green hair almost smacking Robin in the face, to look at the others. "I've met ghouls, lots of ghouls. I've played with ghouls, even though most of them didn't know I knew what they were. I can sense whenever there's a ghoul around me, but I don't reveal them. When I say so, they don't hurt me! We just keep playing!"

Chrom's brow creased, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Still..."

"I, too, know when there is a man-eater among man-spawn." Panne suddenly appeared in the fire's light, settling on crossed legs as she scanned the rest of the Shepherds around the fire. "Were they a threat, I would warn everyone in the Shepherds. I promised to fight for the exalted line, after all."

"So," Stahl started, "if there is a ghoul among us, you're not telling?"

"No way!" Nowi cried. "I know they eat you, and I know you're scared of them, but... They just wanna be human, like you all! They wanna eat human food. They wanna feel safe... They don't want to be hunted and killed anymore than you do."

And every word she said summarised exactly how Robin felt. He was afraid, always terrified, of discovery, of the CCG, of dying. He wanted to know what so many human foods tasted like -- different meats, vegetables, and why others loved cake so much if they knew it was unhealthy -- and he didn't want to have to depend on the flesh of his friends, of innocent people, to live.

To live without fear of being discovered, of being hunted, of being killed. A life without fear for it was something Robin could barely imagine.

How wonderful it would be.

The humans around him didn't seem to know what to say, either. They looked unsettled by Nowi's, and Panne's, words, but not entirely convinced. Of course, they'd always learned to fear ghouls, the Grimaspawn, the man-eaters, the red-eyed monsters that killed without a second thought of someone's life, friends and family. To hear that ghouls felt the exact same way in reverse...

"Don't worry, Robin," he heard Lissa say beside him. He'd pulled his cowl down over his eyes and was clutching his coffee tightly. He nodded and took a few sips, scalding his throat but he couldn't care less.

After spending a little time conversing with the others and modestly waving off their compliments for his coffee -- his mind more on the development of strategies for rescuing Emmeryn -- he excused himself and made his way over to his tent, shared with Stahl and Lon'qu. It was long dark when he returned his mug to the mess tent, and the camp had mostly fallen quiet for the night by the time he got to the tent he slept in.

"Robiiiiiin!" He turned at Nowi's little squeal, seeing the manakete come bounding towards him. She dug her heels into the sand to not crash into him, and grinned broadly. "Do you believe me now?"

This time, he couldn't stop that infectious smile, and nodded in return. "Yeah, I do. Thanks, Nowi."

Her expression brightened even further, a childish giggle escaping her. She tugged his sleeve. "So you'll play with me, right?!"

"Maybe not right now," Robin chuckled, "but yes. I'll play with you whenever I can."

She looked away suddenly, and frowned. "Yeah, not right now... Four are coming from that way!"

She pointed westwards, and Robin shuddered at what this meant. He raised his head in that direction and sniffed the air. It took him a bit to catch the smell, but once he had, he focused on trying to hear them.

Four males of average build, but moving in a carefully trained manner. The sand made it difficult to discern anything more, but these were nothing like the village ghouls he'd chased off so far. He would not be able to get rid of them without a fight.

"Should I come, too?" Nowi asked. "I can fight!"

"No," Robin immediately growled. "This is your first night here -- it'll be too obvious if you're not around."

The girl deflated, her pointed ears drooping. "Oh, boo... I guess you're right."

"You're sharing with Lissa, aren't you? She's probably worried now." Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pushed the manakete away from him. "Go. I'll handle this."

The girl pouted, but she seemed to realise throwing a tantrum wouldn't change Robin's mind or logic. Grumbling, she nodded, and met his gaze again.

"I know one-eyes are strong, so good luck!" she whispered. After one last glance in the direction of the four approaching ghouls, she turned and ran to Lissa's tent.

"Damn..." Robin sighed, and cautiously entered his tent. If he had to fight with his kagune, he couldn't risk ripping his current clothing. There could be no more obvious clue than that.

While the candle at his crate-desk was still lit, Stahl was dozing in his bedroll, facing away, and Lon'qu was absent, still guarding Lissa's tent till he was dismissed. Robin jotted down some notes on possible strategies he'd come up with for Emmeryn's rescue, which still had too many variables and unknowns for anything concrete. He then hastily changed into his skin-tight black, open-backed top, his dark trousers and boots, then threw his short ebon cloak over his body.

He froze in clasping that cape when Stahl stirred slightly, but fortunately didn't wake, and listened attentively for Lon'qu or anyone else approaching. When there was no one, he slipped out into the night, listened again for where the patrols were, and crept out of the camp, due west.

Soon enough, once he reached the area the Shepherds had just battled in, Grimleal corpses still strewn about, he could see them. Three ghouls were clad darkly, clearly trained in assassination, but their leader was more dignified.

He wore a domino mask with lash details, his hair a short bob cut with a thick lock lightly curling at his right cheekbone, lavender in colour. His outfit consisted of a white shirt and cravat, a black tailcoat and diamond-patterned trousers. He bore no ornaments or crests to signify the house he served or his rank, so Robin could only assume he was a simple butler from how he was dressed.

Robin threw his cowl over his face, his only kakugan already blazing with the Rc cells eagerly flooding his senses and kagune writhing in its sac. The intruders noticed him then.

"The albino," the purple-haired leader sneered, no doubt noticing his marble complexion. "Get him!"

The three assassins launched themselves at Robin, each one releasing their kagune.

Two bikaku, one koukaku. The latter type Robin had already witnessed -- when he'd been gutted at the Border Pass by S-rated Twister -- and now gave him the advantage as a rinkaku, and a bikaku he had seen during one of the skirmishes to drive ghouls away from camp.

Against the koukaku, he had the strength to puncture their superior defences. Bikaku actually left him at a disadvantage, however.

The bikaku type exited the body at the tailbone, bearing a suitable appearance, and was the most balanced of all kagune types. They were terrible melee weapons, but could abuse what was normally a rinkaku's greatest asset -- their instability. This characteristic afforded Robin the best healing, but his type was the most fragile, the easiest to pull apart. Bikaku were physically weaker, but stable. Not as resilient as koukaku shields, but this made them more flexible.

The first bikaku-user twisted and made to slash his fleshy kagune-tail across Robin's chest. He flipped back, kicking his assailant in the face, and rolled aside before the second, more whip-like bikaku vertically sliced him in half.

Behind them, the koukaku fully manifested his shield-like plating, similar to an armadillo's shell, from below his shoulder blade and fixed it along his right arm. He approached more cautiously, and Robin saw this opportunity as he dodged another whipping and slash.

He spun and kicked one bikaku to the ground, gave the other a right hook across the jaw in the same movement, and unleashed his four scaly tentacles, ignoring the pain of muscle, arteries, and skin bursting apart at his lumbar. He threw them at the koukaku's shield, pulling the assassin towards them with a crushing grip that cracked the his kagune, and threw him to the ground despite the shield's weight. Before he could stand, the one-eyed ghoul grabbed him with his rinkaku again, wrapping the tendrils around his right arm and cracked shield, and squeezed.

The sound of bones breaking emanated from the wrap of kagune, and the koukaku-wielder screamed in agony as his claw was pulverised by Robin's pure strength, and his arm was deformed by the coarsely scaled appendage and the shards of his own broken kagune.

"He's a ghoul?!" questioned the first bikaku-user. "He smells human!"

"His eyes!" screeched the whip-bikaku, scrambling to stand. "Only one's red!"

As the other also got up, Robin leapt towards the falling, screaming koukaku, released his grip on the other's kagune, which dissipated into crimson smoke as the Rc released its sinewy connections, grabbed his hair and snapped his neck.

"One down."

He turned in time to see the bikaku running towards him, grinning at the sight of the rinkaku kagune, and Robin moved back as the assassin only just slashed at his lower abdomen. But he was leaving himself open.

Robin sliced off his head. The corpse collapsed into the sand, kagune slumping with it. The Rc cells began fading into the same red smoke.

"That's two."

He snapped his head round to stare at the last bikaku with his mismatched eyes. A brief glance confirmed their leader had yet to move in offence himself. Hiding behind his lackeys? A weak coward, no doubt.

The gash across his abdomen was stitching itself closed, fast enough for him to be able to move safely -- that is, without his guts spilling out -- within the next few seconds.

The bikaku-wielder was about to charge, when a dagger pierced the right side of his skull. His knees buckled, blood spilled from his nose and mouth, and he collapsed face-first into the sand.

Robin glanced in the direction from which the knife had come, seeing the leader of the three other ghouls stand ramrod straight, his right hand grasping another throwing knife against his knee. He made no move to attack again, but Robin now reassessed his original idea of a cowardly, cheap leader. With his head held high, spine straight, complete poise and perfect aim, this noble ghoul was doubtlessly a larger threat than he had at first believed.

Yet why kill his own men?

Gingerly, and keeping an eye on the lavender-haired man, Robin crept over to assess the bikaku-user's corpse. The dagger had entered the ghoul's temple at a perfectly horizontal angle. He pulled it out, discovering an ornate design along the hilt -- that of roses.

But looking at the glint of the metal, it appeared to be steel. How could that even pierce a ghoul's skin? No matter the force applied, the metal would first bend and curl away at contact.

"Kamishiro."

What? That was a Chon'sin name, but nobody else was here. A family name, at that.

He looked towards the domino-masked ghoul, who still stood in the same spot and same pose as before, but was clearly speaking to him.

"Your kagune is the same as Ms Kamishiro's," said the stranger in fluent Chon'sin, and he suddenly didn't seem as hostile. A little on edge, at most. "You're her rumoured one-eyed son, aren't you?"

The half-ghoul rested his forehead on his hand, raking his fingers through his white hair. He curled his rinkaku around himself protectively, yet flexed them to show he remained on guard. That name, Kamishiro, was his? Now that he had heard it, Robin felt the same resonance with it as the name he already knew, and at the same time, associated something akin to pride with it, like when one gains a hard-earned victory in a difficult chess match.

"Robin Kamishiro..." murmured the half-ghoul, acutely aware of how his tongue and mouth wrapped themselves around the name. It sounded truly beautiful, like something straight out of one of Takatsuki's poetically written novels, when it left his lips, and Robin couldn't help but laugh giddily.

"Robin Kamishiro," he repeated quietly, grinning widely. "That's my full name. Robin Kamishiro."

And his mother's. If her surname was already so elegant, what would her first name be like?

He tried to remember, only for a sporadic headache to punish him for his troubles. He cringed and squeezed his eyes shut, a hiss of pain he didn't really notice doubtlessly alerting the other.

"Was zum...?" the stranger started, seemingly to himself. Robin snapped his head up, eyes narrowing.

"Who are you?" he growled, raising the dagger and his kagune, four ends predatorily aimed at the intruder. "And why kill one of your own men?"

To his surprise, the man held his other dagger out in front of himself, and dropped it into the sand. He then slipped off his domino mask, revealing thick eyebrows and violet eyes much like his hair. His features, however, were distinctly not Chon'sin.

"My name is Ka'nae von Rosewald. I was formerly a servant to my cousin, Shuu Tsukiyama, and his noble house in Chon'sin," he explained, ever-fluent in the tongue of the Valmese continent.

"Then why are you here, Mr Rosewald?" Robin asked, lowering his cowl in turn and standing to his full height. He didn't retract his kagune yet.

The man frowned, growling, "I am now in thrall to the Mad King, after he had my family slaughtered. As to why I killed that hired assassin... What person in their right mind would not seek your aid -- that of a fabled one-eyed ghoul -- in defying such a master, especially with your mother's renowned strength?"

The claim seemed realistic enough, and believable, given the man's characteristics. He had a noble bearing, spoke Chon'sin like a native, and his given reason was understandable. Still...

"Can you prove this disloyalty to me, other than just by killing a hired man?" Robin spat.

Rosewald gave pause at this, and seemed to seriously debate it for a while. Then, he took a few steps forward, spread his arms, and said gravely, "My orders are to kill you, confirm the Fire Emblem's presence, and report back. If I'm to lie and say I failed in either task, then beat me to the brink of death! Bis ich am Rande des Todes stehe!"

Robin stared at the man at the proposal -- no, demand. Of all the justifications, begging to be torn apart in order to solidify a lie was beyond his expectations.

"How the hell do you figure?" He paused. "And was that your mother tongue at the end there?"

Arms still apart, Rosewald answered, "I'm of Valmese descent -- of the nation, that is, not the continent as a whole. I'd shared a grandfather with Master Shuu. Now, are you going to rend me asunder or not?"

Robin scrutinised the man, turning the demand over in his head.

Rosewald bit back a scream when Robin stabbed him in the gut with one tentacle. The next pierced an arm, then another as Robin closed the distance, poising his last claw between Rosewald's eyes. The man stared back at him with kakugan bright with pain, but made no hostile move.

He could easily release his kagune and take Robin's head off, depending on his type, but he instead only gritted out, "Ihr Götter, entscheiden Sie sich doch! Decide!"

Robin waited a few blinks longer, feeling Rosewald's muscles tense in agony around his kagune, before he carefully pulled a tentacle out of the man's arm.

He watched the speed of the wound in his bicep closing, holding the arm up for the other, who no longer could.

"Rinkaku?" he asked Rosewald, earning a terse nod. The regeneration was nowhere near the rate of his own, but still the unique speed of his type.

"Another of Ms Kamishiro's characteristics I'd heard of -- the unusual speed of your healing," the other man gritted out.

Robin carefully released the other two tendrils from the other's body, lowering him to sit in the sand, and retracted his entire claw back into the kakuhou. He stepped towards a corpse from the battle against the Grimleal, cutting one of its arms off with the rose-ornamented knife, and handed both to the other ghoul.

Rosewald quickly lunged for them, clutching the dagger and gulping down the flesh to speed up his regeneration. Halfway through the meat, he spoke, "You have not yet answered another of my questions. Why did you repeat your own name to yourself?"

Robin debated answering for a moment, but saw no harm in revealing some of what he knew of his origins. He crossed his legs and sat before the other ghoul, deeming him just trustworthy enough after that display.

"Prince Chrom found me unconscious in an Ylissean field a few months back. That is my earliest memory."

Rosewald paused in his eating. "So, Mr Kamishiro, you're relation to the prince is one of loyalty?" he asked, with caution.

Robin simply nodded, and the man hummed a laugh. "I see. I wondered why a ghoul would serve a human, but... If he took you in as I suppose, I can fully understand that loyalty. Master Shuu, a ghoul, was quite the same."

Again, Robin found himself nodding slowly at the melancholy in Rosewald's tone. He felt the need to continue to answer the question. "So, all I know of my origins is conclusions drawn from my appearance and what I've heard about my mother from...an acquaintance."

"I see," Rosewald murmured. If he noticed that hesitation, he didn't show it. After swallowing another bite, he gave Robin an unreadable look. "Your mother's full name is Ri'ze Kamishiro."

Ri'ze Kamishiro.

Robin slumped, his vision blurring. Breathlessly, he whispered, "Beautiful...!"

This saudade was something he'd always felt. But now knowing his mother's name perhaps only made it more profound. His chest felt tight. He didn't know whether to feel sorrowful or bursting with joy.

"Gods, it's a beautiful name...!" he whimpered, tears beginning to stream from his eyes.

"And I was told she is a beautiful woman," Rosewald continued. "Strong, too, and learned." A pause, filled only by Robin's building sobs. "Still, Master Shuu was not at all fond of her. He invited her to his Ghoul Restaurant, and she insulted his fine dining."

Robin cocked his head. "The Binge Eater would insult fine dining...?"

"My master is--" He shuddered. "Was... My master was known as the Gourmet. Ms Kamishiro called that behaviour almost human, and preferred getting the meat herself, the feeling of ripping someone apart. I'm afraid I know nothing else about her, only that she reappeared in Chon'sin about ten years ago, with half-ghoul kin. But those were just rumours..."

Disappointed, Robin stood. "If that's all you know, then let's talk about this alliance you want to forge."

Nodding, Rosewald carefully got up. He held his hand to his abdominal wound, but let go when he'd confirmed it was fully healed. His shirt and waistcoat were nonetheless drenched with his blood. If that wouldn't be convincing of a badly lost battle, Robin didn't know what was.

"I'll do what I can to inform you of Gangrel's -- or I should say, Aversa's -- strategies, including how the execution shall be staged. I'll jeopardise them however I can. In return, all you have to do is live long enough to lend me your strength in overthrowing him. You intend to do as much anyway, do you not?"

Robin bristled, flashing his kakugan. "We haven't planned an attack on Gangrel yet, and will avoid it if at all possible. Rescuing Emmeryn is the absolute priority," he snarled. "And I will listen to her opinion on this. My fealty belongs to her."

"I understand. But you've heard the feelings of these villagers, haven't you?" Rosewald countered, distinctly calmer. "I know from previous investigations on the Mad King's behalf that most people of Plegia are resistant to the idea of more war. Yet Gangrel is too bloodthirsty a ruler. There will be no peace..."

He stood before Robin, a full head taller, grabbed his white hair so pull him into gaze.

"...Unless. He. Stirbt," he hissed at Robin, his pair of kakugan alight with wrath. No knowledge on Valmese was needed to understand the final word. "You know the truth of this, and I know we both want to see him dead, Kamishiro."

Robin kicked Rosewald in the newly-healed gut, forcing him to release his grip on his hair. He leapt back quickly, out of Rosewald's reach.

"Then why not just go AWOL now?" asked the albino.

"There are dark mages everywhere. He would find me... And the Mad King has something of mine. I cannot leave without it," said the lavender-haired man severely.

Robin cocked his head slightly. If that something was so vital to Rosewald, it had to be an important restraint of sorts. Or blackmail. If Robin accepted this proposal, he'd also have access to some extremely useful information scouts could perhaps never find.

"And you'll keep your end of the deal?"

"I, Ka'nae von Rosewald, loyal servant to the Tsukiyama House, solemnly swear it."

* * *

"Lost?!" Gangrel sneered, standing from his throne. "To that puny boy?!"

"He is the son of the Binge Eater," Ka'nae answered, not straightening from the bow he stood in despite the protests from his back. Though healed, his injuries were still a little irritable at times. Kamishiro's regenerative abilities were truly remarkable, as was his strength. "He is a truly formidable opponent."

The Mad King growled in frustration. "Then try again, gods damn it! I swear, if the scouts are as incompetent as you I may as well stab that wretch-queen instead of creating a big show!"

How that would disappoint Madame A and PG. With a slightly lower bow, Ka'nae stepped back and out of the throne room.

"Dieser...!" (That...!) Ka'nae hissed, then realised he had run out of new insults to call that damnable madman.

Even so, this alliance with Kamishiro was far from an easy one. His Master Shuu had passionately disapproved of Ri'ze Kamishiro. And when Master Shuu had said to jump, Ka'nae had asked "how high?" Master Shuu's will had been Ka'nae's will. Master Shuu's taste had been his taste. This fealty was matched only by Ka'nae's absolute passion for his namesake -- roses.

Still, what would compel a ghoul, the superior race, to swear loyalty to a human? Prince Chrom's case Ka'nae fully understood -- Master Shuu had also taken him in when the Ghoulforschungsgesellschaft (GFG, the CCG's Valmese research branch) had slaughtered his family --, yet why the exalt?

He supposed he had one way of finding out. Checking his surroundings for any onlookers, sensing none, he took swift strides in the direction of the castle dungeons.

As soon as he entered the dark sandstone halls lit only by torches and the meagre light that entered through small, barred shafts, he reeled at the stench. He'd been here plenty of times before. In fact, this was the part of the castle he was best acquainted with. Even so, the smells overwhelmed him every time he passed the bolted, magically-reinforced door. The stench of mould, disease, infection...

Yet now, all this was overpowered by a delectable, entrancing, intoxicating human aroma that had his mouth watering so severely it left saliva dribbling down his chin.

"Gottesspeise...!" (Ambrosia...!) he moaned, steadying himself against a wall. In the back of his inebriated mind, he realised this was why he'd been forbidden from entering the dungeons since Exalt Emmeryn's capture, because Ihr Götter, it would take all his willpower to not sink his teeth into that...that enthralling flesh of the exalt.

When he opened his eyes, he noticed he had wandered halfway to the scent down the end of the cell-lined hall, and was grasping the cold steel bars of one, kakugan active, thick saliva dripping onto the floor beneath him, breath ragged and deep as he drank in the scent.

"Solch eine Delikatesse...!" (Such a delicacy...!) he groaned, unsteady on his feet. How would Master Shuu have had a meal such as this prepared?

He knew. With restraint, patience, and growing aspiration until the very end of the hors d'œuvre!

"Stopp," Ka'nae growled at himself, "Denke nach!" (Think!)

If he submitted to this urge, to devour the most delicious meal he had in years, in eternity, he would lose Kamishiro's already feeble trust, along with any hope of escaping the Mad King in one piece. The exalt was his bargaining chip. If he killed her, the war would escalate, Gangrel would spill more of everyone's blood, and Kamishiro would perhaps not stop until he had Ka'nae's head.

He took deep breaths through his mouth, wiping away the saliva around his chin with an old handkerchief with a rose emblem on the corner. With the wonderful aroma still permeating the halls, he could do nothing against his kakugan. But Kamishiro had lastly mentioned that the exalt knew of his half-ghoul status, and that she would take that secret to the grave if necessary.

Revealing his own true identity to her would be a small sacrifice, if it allowed him to see just why Robin trusted her so. Ka'nae had nothing left to lose, anyway.

Once he was certain he wouldn't lunge for her at first sight, he took slow steps to the cell she was in, his movements echoing through the dungeons.

He finally came to a halt before her cell's bars, and stared.

The woman was sitting in the corner of her dark cell. Her golden hair fell in two curls on either side of her face, the Brand of the Exalt proudly borne on her forehead. Her slitted dress was white, though it was mostly hidden beneath a jade and gold sage cloak.

She raised her head and, with tantalising green eyes, held his stare. Although, her gaze was neither hard, nor unkind. It was somewhere between; regal, yet not haughty; kind, but not fragile. Even in the dank cell, with only dried bread and almost certainly worm-infested water as sustenance, her majestic grace seemed no worse for wear.

A majesty that was somehow not even overwhelming, but strangely...calming.

This was the woman all of Plegia condemned? She was a wretched being lower than dirt? This woman, whose radiance had yet to be snuffed by imprisonment. This woman, who had every reason to be afraid, but didn't even flinch at the sight of a ghoul staring her down with blood red eyes?

This woman, who made no move to defend herself, was who Gangrel saw every reason to attack? Whose land should be ravaged?

This war strongly reminded Ka'nae of that between ghouls and man. The last exalt had ravaged both countries, and Gangrel rallied his people for his own petty revenge. Plegians hated Ylisseans. Ylisseans hated Plegians. One killed another, another killed that one. The halidom and the theocracy had been warring since the dawn of history, but it seemed these modern tensions and wars were the most severe.

Similarly, the Doves never cared about an individual ghoul's crimes, only that being a ghoul was a death sentence. They did not discriminate between the peaceful and the rioters. If born on the wrong side of this war, one's life was forfeit. There was nothing else to it. The CCG and GFG gained new magically-enhanced technology -- the quinques and quinque steel -- and the ghouls thus strove to gain more power.

But the Doves. Doves, sitting upon their perches, white feathers glowing beneath the sun, crooned as a sign of peace, prosperity, and good fortune to those who saw them. Only ghouls knew that in reality, beneath those folded wings, their talons were stained red -- the blood of the innocent lives they took. Of men, women, and children. They ignored the ghouls' similarities to their food.

"You want to be here as much as I do."

The voice was so soft, so smooth in prising him from his wrathful thoughts, that for a second Ka'nae was convinced he had imagined it. That tone was too angelic to be of this world.

Still, some feeling compelled him to look at her again. And when he did, the impossible seemed to show itself to him. She stood right before him, barely separated with the bars of her cell, and was looking at him questioningly with a certain emotion in her eyes, one he had not seen in a long time.

"Isn't that right?" she asked, in that same soothing voice that made his shoulders feel so much lighter in the time she spoke.

She actually cared? For a complete stranger? For a ghoul who may have just come to devour her?

Ka'nae supposed that if anyone who had once known him were to see him now, they'd be worried, even horrified. Where there had once been passion and extravagance, there was now only numb listlessness. He had once felt welcome in his skin, yet now he only knew permanent disgust. He couldn't even muster up the strength to speak as much in that eccentric way he'd always used to. He dared not look into mirrors, lest he, too, be left breathless at the shell of his former self.

And Shuu, dearest Master Shuu...

Ka'nae clenched his hands against the bars of her cell, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to just bend them. Not to devour her from head to toe, but to free her. Yet the mere thought was futile -- everything in Plegia was laden with dark magic, and he could feel the sigils carved into the steel.

"Gangrel wird dies bereuen."

"Pardon?"

"Gangrel will regret this. I swear it."

He felt soft hands place themselves over his, the touch alone letting him loosen his grip on the metal. Exalt Emmeryn said nothing, but simply her contact and gaze seemed to disrupt the raging storm of emotions inside him, the clouds breaking with rain that streamed down his cheeks. His forehead was cooled by the bars he rested it against.

With Exalt Emmeryn's bearing unaffected by her captivity and hope of rescue from Kamishiro and the prince, compared to Ka'nae's reluctance to leave without his revenge and what Gangrel had taken from him, which of them was truly behind those bars?

Roses did not belong in Plegia. Only their thorns remained once the soft petals dried up. They lost their glorious beauty. But maybe, just maybe, a little compassion for the wilting flowers, a little care for their true beauty, might let them bloom anew.

"Wie hätte ich jemals Robin Kamishiros Treue, gegenüber solch einer milden Herrscherin, nicht verstehen können?"

(How could I have ever failed to understand Robin Kamishiro's loyalty to such a benevolent sovereign?)


	17. For Whose Sake?

Robin's alliance was coming to fruition. The thralled ghoul Rosewald had been able to leak the different brigades, their placements, the timing, and Aversa's strategic tendencies. While she wouldn't get her hands dirty, she would threaten, lure, or blackmail others into doing her work, no matter how immoral. Though thankfully, her current strategic setup would not require this. And Robin now knew to expect what would have otherwise been surprise wyvern reinforcements, along with the names of Plegia's greatest generals. This bargain was proving quite the boon, and he could finally draft a sure strategy for their victory in the upcoming assault to the Plegian castle courtyard, where the execution would be held.

Robin had been unwilling to trust the man at first, and had remained cautious even after stabbing him. But the man had solemnly sworn an oath of fealty to this alliance, and had held himself to it. Ka'nae von Rosewald had certainly proven himself a man of honour. But from what little Robin understood of serving an apparently prestigious house, only to then be forced into submission of a tyrannical master, it was only natural.

Regardless, these plans were the best he could come up with. They may have only applied to the Shepherds — as Regna Ferox had its own strategists, who all had to cooperate with Robin and among each other for everything to run smoothly — but that didn't make them any less important. The prince of Ylisse led this small force, after all. They spearheaded this rescue, and received all the respect for it.

The strategy meeting with Chrom, now joined by both Feroxi khans, was scheduled for in a few minutes, so he rolled up the plans and exited his tent. He would need to take inventory afterwards, too, and make sure everyone among the Shepherds was armed and ready.

The sounds and smells of the greater camp were overwhelming. Horses and pegasi trotting, flying, patrolling, and the smell of their dung. Smoke from the multiple camp fires and torches. The clanging of smiths working in the forge. People everywhere, sweat, sand, and dirt clinging to them parasitically, underneath scraping and clanking armour plates. And further in the distance, even more sweat along with grunting, wood hitting wood in sparring matches, arrows being let loose and hitting the targets, elemental spells of all three types and varying degrees of power being practised.

If there were ever a time to condemn Robin's ghoul senses, now would be a good one. Ever single sound might as well have been hammered into his head, every smell burn his nose. It had been bearable before with just the Shepherds, but with the Feroxi armies joining them and the battle nigh, Robin couldn't imagine much worse. Maybe if he bore it long enough, he'd be a little deafened.

Through the smells and sounds, he caught Chrom's stench, and looked ahead to see the man's sapphire hair, starkly contrasting the steel and sand. He was also heading towards the strategy tent, talking to Sumia on the way. Seeing this, Robin figured he should stay back, but Sumia then split off from the captain in the direction of the makeshift stables.

Robin hurried his pace to catch up to the prince, only to see Miriel, with her black robes, pointed hat and chin-length red hair, approach and fall into step with him. Just as the boy opened his mouth to announce his presence, the word "ghoul" was dropped.

He almost stumbled to a halt, paranoia leaving him glancing around from under his cowl. But nobody was looking his way except Lon'qu, who nodded curtly in greeting, and Lissa, who waved him over. He shook his head to decline, gesturing to the map rolled up under his sleeve, and moved on.

No one knew. So, why was Miriel talking about ghouls to Chrom?

He listened.

"I have the evaluation of the blood sample you provided me with, Captain," said the mage. "I had my suspicions, though baseless, that the exalted line might be uncommonly palatable to ghouls. That hypothesis is what inclined my solicitation for a vial."

He heard the shuffling of robes, and saw Miriel open a portfolio. Chrom looked at the document over her shoulder, humming thoughtfully.

She continued, "I am compelled to say it's fortunate I did. Your Rc factor amounts to 664, a little superior to the human average."

Chrom's brow furrowed. "So, why the concern?"

Miriel made a noise of displeasure, with a slight note of worry. "Put simply, ghouls ingest human tissue singularly for the red child cells. Their biochemistry and metabolism revolve almost exclusively around the kakuhou and kagune. Your holy lineage would heretofore enkindle a particular inquisitiveness from ghouls, despite the normality... Albeit entirely psychological in nature, I believe it is safe to assume that you are an especially intoxicating human to them."

Or not, Miriel. Robin grumbled. And his disgust could not just be "psychological in nature" when it had been so before knowing who Chrom was.

"Gods, uh..." Chrom rubbed his temple, trying to wrap his head around the idea. He let out a breath. "Alright, I'll be extra careful... And I'll be sure to tell Frederick, Lon'qu, and Robin, for that matter. Thanks, Miriel."

Touching the wide brim of her hat, she excused herself and kept walking. Chrom turned and entered the large tent where the strategy meeting would be held.

Robin entered just after the prince, taking solace in the tent canvas slightly muffling the camp sounds and smells. Inside was a makeshift table, some other maps and plans lined up in a corner, left by the Feroxi tacticians, and the leaders involved in the Shepherds' part of the rescue — Khan Flavia, Khan Basilio, Chrom, and Frederick.

There was one more — a cloaked man who bowed to the West-Khan, before offering his report.

"Khan Basilio, the exalt is the be executed at the castle on the morrow," said the spy. "I heard it from the king's own lips, sire."

Khan Basilio huffed, arms crossed and his one eye gleaming dangerously. "This is it, then."

Chrom dismissed the spy, turning to his tactician. "Exactly as you predicted, Robin."

Though he had predicted this, it was Rosewald who they ought to have thanked. With his early information, Robin had been granted more precious time to draft the plans with the greatest possible certainty. Even so, no strategy is ever absolute, and arrogance is the greatest downfall.

"So far, yes," he agreed carefully, approaching and spreading his map across the table. "But tomorrow will be the true test..."

Khan Flavia gave him a slap on the back meant to be encouraging, but almost slammed his torso into the wood. "Chin up, there! Show some confidence! It's your thinking that's got us this far. The plan is risky, but only as much is called for."

Chrom placed a more gentle hand on Robin's shoulder, prompting him to look up.

"We'll find a way to see it through, Robin. Don't worry," he spoke, smiling reassuringly. "This time tomorrow, we'll be swapping stories with Emm on the road home."

Robin could only pray he wouldn't break that damnable promise. "I hope you're right."

* * *

Aversa sighed in exasperation, and inspected her long black nails. The soldier before her, the Mad King, and the three ghouls — Ka'nae, Madame A, and PG —, trembled, pale as a sheet.

"So, Captain, let me be certain I understand your report... Not only did you NOT confirm that the Ylissean party carries the Fire Emblem... But you can't be certain Prince Chrom is even among them?" Aversa looked up at him again with her blood-red eyes. "...Is that the gist of it?"

He nodded stiffly. "Y-yes, milady! The air was thick with sand — even their number was difficult to ascertain."

"Perhaps if you had gotten closer, Captain. Here, let me show you..." she purred.

She purposefully strutted towards him, hips swaying and black sash billowing behind her, running a finger along her white-painted lips. She trapped him with an arm around his waist, pressing her bosom against his chest. She grinned viciously.

"N-no! I'm sorry, I— " He coughed up blood, his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor.

Aversa turned back to the king, buzzing violet sparks dissipating from her hand. She jutted out a hip.

"Apology accepted," sneered the dark flyer over her shoulder at the corpse.

Gangrel tutted, but it lacked any true annoyance. "Do try not to kill ALL the soldiers, my dear. We'll need a few for the welcoming party. The Ylisseans will be here soon — Chrom and the Emblem among them, I'm sure." A maniacal grin pulled at his lips, contorting his entire face. "That bleeding-heart prince would never put good sense before his sister!"

"...And when they arrive?" she asked, a rhetorical question.

"It will be a massacre worthy of their legendary father!" Gangrel shrieked with laughter.

Ka'nae strained to keep his composure as he translated to the ghouls. He knew of the crimes the last exalt had committed, but anyone could tell Exalt Emmeryn was nothing short of a saint. He knew a good master when he saw one, as few as there were. Robin's loyalty rang true, and though Ka'nae had had no intention of guaranteeing it, he knew the two of them would each keep their end of the bargain.

He would not allow Exalt Emmeryn, the most benevolent of mistresses, to be executed in such an unsightly manner.

* * *

Robin still had work to do. As nice as it was, Nowi had stolen precious time from him a few days back, so he had to make up for it every spare second. The plan was ready. He'd just made sure everyone was in good health, and he still had to take inventory, and then purchase some of Anna's supplies if need be. However, Chrom had made a point of commenting on Robin's...state of hygiene ("You stink. Take a damn bath."). He may have been forgoing bathing the last few days. So, (not because Chrom said so,) Robin made his way to the men's bathing tent early in the evening, figuring he'd get the warm water whilst others were still training.

He lifted the tarp, steam enveloping him. A few bathtubs were scattered about, along with towels, buckets, and a topless Gaius, who had a certain something on his forearm.

He quickly averted his eyes for the ginger's privacy, but knew he'd already been noticed. He struggled to keep the heat of his cheeks at bay, but against his pallor, he knew it stuck out like blood on snow.

He heard the thief get into a nearby tub, and Robin followed into the next. The water was still hot, heated in buckets by the campfire and the Plegian sun, before being dumped into the tubs. He took a deep breath and ducked beneath the surface, staying under until his lungs burned. He resurfaced, and his embarrassment had yet to abate. He shook his now slightly too long white hair out of his eyes, and focused on scrubbing himself.

"Gaius, I am SO sorry!" he blurted, lowering his head awkwardly. "I had no idea you were getting changed..."

He heard the splash of Gaius waving his hand in dismissal. "Aw, no worries. At least I hadn't taken off my small-clothes yet, eh?"

"Yes, but..." Robin lowered himself further into the water, curling around himself. "I still may have seen more than you intended."

"WHAT?! You saw THAT?!" A few large sloshes indicated the thief moving in shock, and Robin watched in his peripheral vision as Gaius looked down at himself, at his legs. "Gods, how embarrassing... It's just...uh...some insect bites I got the other day, I swe—"

"I'm talking about the tattoo on your arm. It's the one they use to mark convicted criminals, isn't it?"

Gaius calmed a little, surprisingly, and fiddled with a black piece of material he'd wrapped around the offending area. "Oh, that? Yeah, I got caught once doing a favour for a mate. Paid the price. But, uh, I'd appreciate it if you kept that little nugget under your hat, Bubbles."

"...Did you just call me Bubbles?" He shook his head at the trivial question. Gaius had been giving everyone nicknames, it seemed. "Er, but don't worry. I won't tell any—"

"You'll tell everyone, you say?" growled the thief as he got out of his tub. "So, it's to be blackmail, is it? Fine then. I can understand taking an opportunity to line your pockets. You can have my portion of dinner, okay? Will that slake your greed for now?!"

"Er, a cup of coffee is already more than enough," he said uncertainly. Just what was going on now? How had Gaius possibly reached that conclusion? "Also, I'm not blackma—"

"You drive a hard bargain, Bubbles! Very well." For whatever reason, the thief had a bag of sweets with him in the bath tent, and fished out a wrapped-up good the size of both his hands put together. "Take my custard pie!"

"...No," he stuttered, "thank you. I'm not—"

The redhead cut him off again. "If you are looking for ransom, I can assure you I don't have any money." He turned back to his bag, and Robin seized the opportunity to move towards his belongings and dress himself as quickly as possible, barely caring that he was still wet. "But what I do have is a very particular set of honey cakes..."

"Look, I don't want any treats from you, all right?!" he burst, which was all he could do to mask his disgust at the very sight of the confections. "I'll keep your blasted secret!"

"Whoa, easy there, Bubbles! Wait, maybe a little sweet wine will put you in a better mood..."

The very thought of human food had him in the lowest possible spirits. Seeing as the thief's back was turned, he grabbed the rest of his stuff and bolted. The stink of the sweets was becoming overwhelming.

* * *

After expelling his dinner, Robin had wandered into the desert night to meet Rosewald. He waited, sitting cross-legged, with a small dune separating him from the Shepherds' camp. He could still hear them, though, as he would never dare go far in enemy territory.

Even in the cool night, all was deathly silent, without even a trace of life. It had once had Robin wondering what the humans of Plegia ate. The only living beings he'd seen were humans, ghouls, and cacti. A Grimleal he'd attempted to eat had been too skinny and bony for his liking, and he'd swiftly rejected the disgusting meal.

Rosewald's answer to this question, when first brought up, had been simple — they didn't eat. Plegia was a starved land, usually relying on trade to feed itself. But the conflict impeded that. Gangrel's hunger for war would at some point be overridden by his land's hunger. The starved are the desperate. When humans rage, ghouls thrive. If Ylisse and Ferox didn't overthrow him, Plegia would, and the event would have far more dire consequences for everyone.

"Are you prepared?"

Robin looked up at the curt voice, instantly recognising the domino mask.

"Can you tell me any more details about the execution itself?" he asked Rosewald, who sat down before him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Robin knew how well he could bear "gruesome" sights. Yet though hearing the setup of Emmeryn's planned murder was not exactly graphic, he still felt about ready to regurgitate, as if he'd just been force-fed bear meat.

"How dare he?!" snarled the half-ghoul. "First, he orders her assassinated, now—"

"Assassinated?" Rosewald questioned. "He never ordered that. I would know. Gangrel ordered the invasion, but nothing between then and the declaration of war. He doesn't want a clean death. He wants an atrocious spectacle."

"But... If those assassins weren't following Gangrel's orders, then..." He tried to remember the leader of the assassins, who he'd fought in Emmeryn's own chambers, tried to think through the thick cloud of rage he'd built up then. "I think the leader was Grimleal. I thought of him as such during the battle...maybe?"

"That is plausible enough. They are mostly composed of fanatics, so for one to attempt such a thing is no stretch of the imagination," Rosewald agreed thoughtfully. He then refocused. "But that is now of little importance. I'll do what I can to save the exalt. And in return, you help me defeat Gangrel."

Robin hummed, gaze sharpening. "I still don't quite understand why you can't do this alone."

"He has something of mine. I do not know where he keeps it," reiterated the rinkaku, stiff with exasperation. "I know that he will carry it in his final battle — of that I am certain — and that he is too powerful for me to defeat alone."

Then, there was no questioning it anymore. "He's a ghoul," Robin said.

"A Rate S," Rosewald confirmed.

Perhaps he had expected Robin to already know, given that he had been present at the declaration of war. He didn't appear to be concealing it, at least.

"And you're absolutely certain he'll have this thing of yours in his final battle?" he questioned, sceptical.

"Have you not noticed the Mad King has a flair for the theatrical?"

"Takes one to know one," Robin interrupted.

Though the question had been entirely rhetorical, Rosewald gave a wry chuckle at that, before continuing sternly, "This entire execution he promises to be a massacre. I will not let that happen."

Despite himself, Robin smirked at the newfound respect he had for this man.

* * *

_The void is no longer filled with the voices of ancient, wrathful desires._

_"Master Grima, Exalt Emmeryn is to the put to death on the morrow. Events will soon be back on course."_

_They await silently. All is still with apprehension, certainty, and a new fragment of patience._

_For Fate — the divine mistress — is with us._

_"Ha ha, yes, I should never have doubted the truth of your words. The yoke of destiny cannot be cast off! Even as they resist, they only write your future with every step, O great one!"_

_Soon, the flow of time shall return to its original course..._

_The path unto long-sought retribution._

* * *

A scream tore from Robin's throat as he lurched forward. He kicked and squirmed against his restraints, a smell that left him choking invading his nose and something cold and leathery release its grasp on his shoulder.

Robin's eyes burst open in terror when it grabbed its face, another squeal escaping him.

"Whoa! Hey, it's me!"

His vision focused on Stahl, who held his face firmly, but gently, with his gauntleted hands. His brows were furrowed in concern, and only then did the half-ghoul notice the throbbing ache in his head and his right hand.

"Robin? What's wrong?" He looked to his left, and reeled when he discovered Lissa right beside him. "Was it a nightmare?"

Seeing he was awake, the cavalier let go of Robin. The boy noticed he was trembling, and had broken into a sweat. Despite the desert heat, a cold shiver ran through his whole body.

"Is... that what it was? Y-yes, it must have been..." He shook his head to force the voices he could vaguely remember from his mind. Now was not the time to worry about stupid dreams. He was overreacting. That was all. "I'm sorry, what brings you here, Lissa? Was there something you needed?"

From behind her, Lon'qu grumbled, "It's time to march."

"Mm-hm," Lissa nodded, "Frederick says so. And we can't start the plan without our master tactician!"

"Ah!" He scrambled up from his tangled blankets, moving towards his folded clothes. "You should've woken me sooner!"

Lissa excused herself for him to get changed, Lon'qu following, and Stahl chuckled.

"You need all the rest you can get. You've been staying up really late recently."

That included his talks with Rosewald and the subsequent adjustments to his plan. Perhaps, Stahl had been more awake at those times than Robin had always assumed. He tended to block others out while planning, so he wouldn't have noticed.

That trait would get him killed.

Once dressed, Robin gathered up his maps and plans, packing them into his lonely crate of possessions, before motioning to help Stahl deconstruct the tent.

The Shepherds, along with Khan Flavia's and Khan Basilio's armies, would move out soon.

It was time to save Emmeryn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sun must not set.


	18. Emmeryn

The long, gaping maw of a draconic skull, believed to have belonged to the fell dragon, slain by the Hero-King Marth, overshadowed the sandstone buildings of the Plegian capital. Castle Plegia was perched atop Grima's skull, just behind the six eye sockets, three on each side. A ring wall protruded from the northern side, leaving a single entrance to welcome travellers. The dragon's spine ran west for miles, its ribs uneven and ancient bones broken.

One wing bone stuck up diagonally from the rest of the body, coming to a point above the walled courtyard of the capital. On the end of that long bone, dozens of metres above the ground, stood Exalt Emmeryn. She held her hands in prayer to the divine dragon, the executioner behind her pointedly ignored.

The vengeful people of Plegia had gathered in the shadow of Grima's skull, an ample viewing distance away from Emmeryn's expected slaughter and fall. The Plegian army, this division led by heavily-armoured General Campari, stood guard outside the northern wall, wyvern riders dominating the sky.

Just outside the shadow cast by the capital's monument, Gangrel faced his nation from a perch, accompanied by Aversa, Ka'nae von Rosewald, PG — also known as Souta, of the Chon'sin ghoul group called The Pierrot —, and Madame A, all three of whom were masked.

The Mad King stepped up, arms apart as if absorbing his people's rage towards the Halidom of Ylisse, relishing it, thriving in it. His movement silenced the meagre whispers and chatter that had filled the air, now dominated by the sound of the desert wind picking up the ever-shifting sands.

"Good people! Warriors of Plegia! Welcome! Welcome, one and all! Your anticipation electrifies the air! We ALL remember the crimes of Ylisse... Would you have their witch-queen answer for them? Here? Today? NOW?" His pause was filled with the cacophony of war cries from his soldiers as they clapped their weapons, shields and armour together, taunts and abuse towards the exalt, cheers for her death. "YEEEEEEEEEEEES! Finally, we will have JUSTICE!" he roared, then turned up to face the spire, displaying his maniacal grin. "EXECUTIONER! If you would be so kind..."

From the summit of a dune, Virion pulled back an arrow, his grasp tight and lips taut as the longbow, with an unusual silence broken only by the sound of the breeze and stretch of the bowstring. The wind combing his silvery blue hair did not deter him from his absolute focus, as the Shepherds prayed for this to be a perfect shot, just as he had been training for the past weeks.

Chrom watched intently as the arrow was let loose, flew through the sky, and penetrated the executioner's skull just as the axe was about to come down. He collapsed sideways and plummeted to the ground, breaking Emm out of her trance and resignation as she spun around in shock.

"NOW!!" he and Robin cried in unison, the Shepherds rounding the dune and Feroxi armies charging from their flanks, their gathered roars loud enough to surely rouse the dead. Nowi, with her dragon scales too resilient for arrows, took to the skies with a sword-wielding Donnel on her back, spewing her divine flames at the wyvern riders above. The mages cast wind magic, Virion, Khan Basilio, and anyone else capable of firing arrows shooting at the wyverns.

With the skies so dominated, Chrom rode behind Sumia on her low-flying pegasus flanked by Frederick and Cordelia, Stahl, and Sully, the six of them spearheading the Shepherds into the centre of the fray.

"Take out all the soldiers first!" Chrom ordered as he unsheathed Falchion. "We'll deal with the Mad King later!"

From before his people, Gangrel turned to face the incoming armies. "Oh, will you now? Bwa ha! We've been expecting you, Little Prince. Men! Kill him. Kill his sister. Kill his troops and his friends and anyone else you find! KILL THEM AAAAAAAAALL!" he shrieked, and the Plegian army charged.

"You are so dead!" Stahl yelled as he sliced an enemy soldier across his torso.

"Oi! Save some for me, you prick!" Sully japed as she impaled another.

"Don't trip..." Chrom heard Sumia mutter to herself in front of him as she joined the battle, and he finished off any opponents she missed.

One of Cordelia's javelins flew over them and struck a dark mage in the chest, before Frederick expertly retrieved the weapon and silenced the injured Plegian.

Across the battlefield, Chrom could hear Robin's firm commands, and faithfully obeyed his voice whenever directed at him.

Until he heard another.

"Exalt Emmeryn! No! Gods speed me to her side!"

He searched for the source of the feminine voice as the battle raged, and spotted a white-clad blonde engaging in battle to the southwest, easily destroying the ranks of soldiers she faced with her broad, black Killer Axe. A notorious weapon in the wrong hands, much like Lon’qu’s Killing Edge sword, but she was clearly fighting for the Ylissean cause. Even so, she could easily be overwhelmed, solitary as she was.

Chrom pointed her out to Sumia, who spurred her pegasus over there. As they approached he could get a closer look at her.

She had sand-blonde hair flowing just past her shoulders with a few shorter strands falling into her face, and a thin plait on each side of her head weaving into each other at the back. Her jade green eyes were hardened with the vigour of battle, but nonetheless charming. She still comfortably surpassed Chrom in height and strength, with broad shoulders and an angular jaw. Frederick would be proud.

Her broad golden chest plate and vambraces indicated a respectable rank within the Ylissean clergy. Her heavy pale robes hid all of her figure, and she wasn't wearing a skirt of any sort, but trousers and boots. Certainly more convenient for battle than a dress, which war clerics usually wore.

Once she'd slammed her axe into the last of the surrounding soldiers, Chrom dismounted and called out to her.

"You there! Who are you? Why do you fight alone?"

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, in a deeper voice than he'd come to expect, but nonetheless womanly. "You're Prince Chrom, brother to Her Grace the Exalt!"

He cocked a brow. "You know me?"

"Know you? Of course, sire! All Ylissean clergy do. I must thank the gods for uniting us!" She clasped her hands and shut her eyes, and intense look on her face as she continued, "Oh, dearest and most heavenly fa—"

He hesitated to interrupt sharply, "With all respect, now is not the time for prayer — it's action that's called for."

"Ah, too true!" she replied regretfully. "We hurried here to help as soon as word came of the execution."

"'We'?" he repeated hopefully. "Then, there are more of you?"

She lowered her head, hands coming together again. "Alas, there were. I lost many brave comrades along the way. In truth, I was starting to doubt the purpose of my struggle..." He took a deep breath, before meeting Chrom's eyes with his powerful green ones. "But no longer! Pray, sire, let my axe serve you and your party!"

The prince grinned. "Your love for my sister is clear. I would be honored to be joined by such a formidable woman of the cloth."

The war cleric was oddly silent at that. "Man, sire. Man of the cloth."

"You're a..." Chrom chuckled at the obvious joke. "You're not a woman?"

"No, sire. Women are clerics. I am a priest," said the other without a hint of amusement. "Well, technically a war monk, if you care to split hairs. My name is Libra."

"Oh. Yes, well, I'm... I didn't mean to imply..." Chrom felt his cheeks warm up, and knew he could not blame it on the desert heat. He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, this is rather awkward."

The war cler— The war monk, Libra, chuckled in a deceptively pleasant voice. "Oh, it's all right, sire. You realised your mistake quickly enough. It could have become much more awkward." After a pause, he added, "MUCH more..."

"Right! Let's stop there." Chrom swiftly turned to Sumia, who had stood guard this entire time, and mounted behind her. "Do you see the young man in the Gri— dark cloak, ordering the Ylisseans? Ask him where to go in this battle!"

He'd expected Libra to be visibly disgusted by the idea of following an apparent Grimleal's orders. Yet, to his surprise, the man nodded without an ounce of hesitation and followed the order, joining the battle once again.

As they reentered the centre of the fray, a dark mage came into their sights. Her back was turned, so Sumia lunged for her. The female mage noticed at the last moment, spinning away from the lance and ducking beneath Chrom's attempted riposte.

"Damn!" he cursed raising his sword in preparation for blocking a dark magic attack from behind. Sumia reigned her pegasus in to turn around, before they noticed an oddity.

The dark mage had made no move to cast a spell, simply watching the battlefield with a dour, almost bored expression.

"She's not fighting?" Sumia questioned and, with a glance at her captain, guided them towards the curious mage.

She wore the same kind of robes as all dark mages — a navy cloak and enough material to cover the indecent, the rest of her hourglass figure clad in sheer, leaving little to the imagination. Golden rings hugged her wrists and thighs, she had heeled sandals, and a golden belt around her wide hips, along with her matching headdress. Her long hair was an oily black, contrasting her Plegian pallor, and she stared at them with dark eyes shadowed by her thick fringe.

"You there! Are you with the Plegians?" Chrom asked, though perhaps he needn't have. Every inch of this woman screamed Plegian, born and bred. "You seem reluctant to fight."

"Death comes to all of us eventually. Why invite it early, fighting for a cause I don't believe in?" she asked back, voice low.

"So... I should take that as a no, or..."

"Let's just say I'm keeping my options open," she growled impatiently. "I mean, long live the king and all, but I'd like to keep living as well." She narrowed her eyes at them. "And I have a bit of a rebellious streak, I'm afraid. A...dark side."

This one was significantly less comfortable to talk to than Libra, even with Chrom's awkward misunderstanding. Sumia was just as tense, and it was a bit of a struggle for Chrom to keep his tone hopeful.

"Then, perhaps you would rebel now and fight for our cause?"

She seemed to be caught off guard at that, tilting her head minutely. "...You would trust me? What if this all just a ploy to plunge a dagger in your back?"

"My sister, the exalt — I think she would trust you. And I'm trying to learn from her." Chrom grinned in the most friendly manner he could. "Besides, I already need to watch my back, whether you're with us or not."

"Well, that's odd... Ususally when I bring up the backstabbing bit the discussion is over." She bit her thumb as she debated the offer, before grinning darkly and opening her tome. "Alright, then — consider me your new ally. ...For now."

He supposed he would take that. "Can you handle this area on your own? And your name is...?"

"I can handle myself," she said coldly. "And it's Tharja."

Nodding in satisfaction, he and Sumia made their escape from the ominous Tharja.

* * *

Nowi, Donnel, the archers and mages were making good time on the wyvern brigades. Cordelia and Frederick were elegantly destroying the Plegian army, and Robin watched in satisfaction as Panne butchered any who dared near her. Gaius and Anna the merchant sneakily cut down the soldiers she missed from behind, pinching weapons and equipment as they did. The merchant also healed those in need with a Mend staff. Maribelle rode across the sandstone, healing people from a distance with her newly-obtained Physic, and Ricken unleashed volleys of Elwind up into the sky and across the field from behind her. Lissa scurried around the battlefield to treat other injuries, Lon'qu guarding her and silencing any who came too close with the utmost precision.

"Robin!"

The tactician finished off his Elthunder, striking down a couple of soldiers who were too close to each other, spun and slashed another assailant across the chest with his iron blade, before deeming it safe enough to turn towards the call for attention.

The feminine voice belonged to a male scent. A brief inspection showed Robin a masculine build, countenance, and a strong proficiency with that heavy axe. He also carried two staves, a Mend and a dark one called Ward, which raised someone's magical resistance.

"Prince Chrom requested my aid. Where will you have me?" asked the war monk, scanning the battlefield with him. A quick glance revealed Chrom seeming to arrive from the same direction, so what he said seemed true. Whatever the case, this man didn't smell Plegian and was willing to cooperate with someone as shady as the half-ghoul, so he’d take it.

"Lissa, head for the southwestern flank," he commanded, then turned back to him. "Your name? Can you handle the front?"

A strange expression crossed the war monk’s face, before he answered, "My name is Libra, and I can!" At Robin’s nod, he returned to battle with his axe raised and striking down all who crossed his path.

An electric buzzing reverberated in Robin ears. He spun around looking for a ghoul with kagune unleashed who had somehow passed his detection. The true source of the sound was not nearly as comforting as what he knew how to fight.

A dark, sparking cloud had encompassed an enemy soldier, and Robin could sense that dangerous magic sucking half the life force out of him and returning the rest to the earth. The reeled life force was guided to the caster of the Nosferatu spell, healing the female dark mage. Murmuring incantations without pause, she switched the tome in her grasp to an Elthunder, before striking a wyvern rider who had presented a challenge for Nowi and Donnel.

Robin chose to take back any thoughts he'd had on Chrom's trust.

Then again, looking ahead at Ka'nae von Rosewald, who had his hands clasped behind his back and head lowered, beside the Mad King, gleeful at the slaughter before him, he supposed he was one to talk. Chrom was known as a good judge of character, at least. Robin held no such delusions about himself.

He shook his head. Now was not the time to debate unrelated matters. They had a dark mage on their side. Good. Now, back to battle, he told himself.

Smelling another ghoul, he looked up in time to see a wyvern rider dive-bomb the dark mage, who dodged, but still received a gash to the shoulder. She immediately cast Nosferatu again to heal herself, as Robin sheathed his sword and raced to intervene before the ghoul revealed himself.

He chanted, "Elthunder!"

In an effort to divert the target's attention, he cast it again and flashed his kakugan from beneath his hood. If the enemy was intimidated and afraid, they became more prone to making mistakes.

The ghoul only sneered at the unnatural sight, clearly having not heard of "mythical" one-eyed ghouls. It seemed a military ghoul's number one rule was to not reveal themselves, even in battle. He reigned in his wyvern, prompting it to snap its maw — which could swallow both their heads with ease — at Robin and the dark mage, whose injury had recovered, before taking flight again.

A silver-crested arrow imbedded itself in the reptile’s throat, prompting both it and its rider to scream in pain and fear. The ghoul rushed to guide it to some sort of landing, only for another silver arrow to imbed itself in his own chest. Robin searched for the archer who could wield the material strong enough to withstand ghoul skin, and spotted Khan Basilio notching another for a fatal strike.

Instead, a thrown tomahawk slaughtered the wyvern, which then spiralled into an uncontrollable fall, crashing to the sand. Khan Regnant Flavia retrieved the axe, giving the West-Khan a smug grin, before storming off into battle.

"Too slow, oaf!" she called over her shoulder.

“Gods damn it!" Khan Basilio swore, before switching to his silver axe and striking down the nearest soldier.

"You'll never save your precious exalt, scum!" a voice bellowed across the battlefield.

General Campari's heavy armour clanked as he placed himself in the middle of the courtyard entrance, blocking any way forward. That shell would be physically impenetrable, save for Chrom's slender rapier, the suitable axes, and magic.

The dark mage seemed to have the same idea, Nosferatu dancing between her fingers before she unleashed it.

Campari growled as his life force was drained, fixing the woman with a fiery glare.

"Traitorous—"

Chrom dropped from above, piercing through the gaps in his armour with his rapier. Sumia glided down, coming to sweep Chrom from the general's side before he could retaliate.

"Elthunder!" Robin cast, a golden lightning bolt electrocuting General Campari. He looked around, spotting the blond he needed. "Vaike, hammer the general!"

The muscled man grinned, Miriel finishing off his opponent and allowing him to rush towards General Campari.

"Looks like Teach just got tenure!" he yelled smugly. Ignoring the spear slicing into his abdomen, Vaike brought the hammer down on the general's armoured shoulder, crushing it and pushing the metal into the flesh beneath.

"Urgh..." Campari collapsed, trembling in agony and weakness, clutching his injured shoulder. "Killing me will only... feed Plegia's rage..."

Frederick was swift to stab him through the neck, and kicked the decapitated body off his silver lance from atop his mount.

A quick scan of the battlefield showed only few Plegian soldiers still scattered across the vast area, being handled by the Feroxi. Chrom hurried towards the entrance of the courtyard, the Shepherds, war monk Libra, and dark mage gathering behind him.

"Robin! Their wyvern riders have fallen!" he yelled over his shoulder as the tactician joined him. "The skies are clear! I'm giving the signal!"

He raised Falchion, the blade blindingly reflecting the desert sun.

Robin practically cackled in euphoria as Phila, riding her alicorn, led two other pegasus knights in a mad flight towards Emmeryn's perch, as fast as their feathered wings and legs could propel them.

"Your Grace!" called the falcon knight once beside the bone, hand outstretched to help Emmeryn onto the back of her mount.

"Phila!" exclaimed the exalt. "I'm so glad to see you're safe! But how—"

"Khan Basilio's men freed me," Phila answered, manoeuvring her alicorn to as close as its wingspan safely allowed. It would still take a bit of a frightful jump to reach the outstretched hand. "Come, we must hurry!"

"What? Pegasus knights? How did they... That damned Ylissean tactician does NOT play fair!" Gangrel roared from the other side of the courtyard, seething in outrage. His orchestration was falling apart before his eyes, and Robin caught a hint of satisfaction in Ka'nae's muted smile.

Aversa purred lowly, "Yes, well. Neither do I."

She then recited a portentous incantation. At a final click of the tongue, dark sigils appeared across the inner courtyard, radiating mana and releasing a black smoke that cloaked the entire area around the spire.

As the smoke cleared, distorted moaning resounded from stitched faces with glowing crimson eyes. A dozen of the monstrous beings rose uncoordinatedly from their collapsed forms on the ground, each one a rotten purple and armed with steel bows and arrows.

"...Risen?! Oh gods, no!" Robin shrieked, pulling at his hair in terror and panic. They hadn't seen any since leaving Ylisse. He hadn’t considered this possibility. Why would they appear in Plegia now of all times?! "Chrom! There are Risen everywhere!"

"Not now!" cried the prince, voice breaking and his grip on Falchion trembling. "HURRY, PHILA!!"

Gangrel burst into mad cackles, spreading his arms apart in bloodthirsty glee. "Oh, did an army of living corpses just APPEAR out of the blue?! Truly, the heavens smile upon mighty King Gangrel this day! Bwa ha ha ha!"

The Risen archers removed arrows from their quivers with calculated precision belied by their otherwise disjointed behaviour. They notched the steel-tipped arrows in their bowstrings, pulled back and all aimed at Phila, who blanched in terror.

And let fly.

The Shepherds and Feroxi watched as if time had slowed down, when in reality, it all happened too fast to comprehend. The arrows flew up in a dark cloud, and Phila pushed her liege away from her before each one pierced the underside of her alicorn, her legs, and one struck her neck. And as the mount and rider fell to the ground, they were already dead.

Emmeryn stared down at the two corpses from her spire. Trembling hands covered her mouth as she screamed her retainer's, her guardian's, her closest friend's name, "Phila!"

"Exeunt one pegasus knight!" Gangrel screeched. "Bwa ha ha! Watch how they fall, one by one!"

The Risen aimed and shot again, half a dozen arrows felling each of the other two pegasus knights as they tried to flee. Their bodies plummeted to the sandstone ground, smashing into the same mess of blood, flesh, and bone as their captain and friend.

The Risen then notched a third set of arrows, trained them onto Emmeryn, and stilled, waiting.

"No no no..." Robin murmured, shaking his head, digging his fingers into his skull, eyes wide with despair as he watched his plan fall apart right in front of him. Only unlike Gangrel, he had no way to reverse this.

Tearing his gaze from the scene of slaughter, he stared ahead at Ka'nae. But even beneath the domino mask and stern set of his mouth, he could see the butler's eyes reflect equal horror. They met his, a clear plea glistening in them, and he shook his head minutely. He hadn't known about this.

Chrom watched the carnage in a desperate wish this was some horrible nightmare. "We've lost..."

After finally calming down, Gangrel stated matter-of-factly, "I believe this is what they call a reversal of fortunes." He pointed one spindly, claw-like finger at the Ylissean party. "Now... grovel before me. Plead! Beg for your worthless lives!"

"I'd give up my life before I beg for it from you," Chrom growled back without missing a beat.

"Oh, now THAT is a good line." For a moment, the Mad King seemed genuinely impressed. "A fitting epitaph for your tombstone, perhaps? But it's not just your life in the balance. The exalt still stands upon the block. And I have a dozen bows trained on her. All it would take is one word from me..."

Chrom started, frantically switching gazes between Gangrel and his sister. He sheathed his sword and prepared to run. "Emm! Hold on, I'm—"

"ARCHERS! If this Ylissean pup so much as twitches, let fly your arrows!" Gangrel ordered.

The prince, trapped, gritted his teeth, "I... I'll kill you!"

Gangrel spread his arms. "Go ahead! I welcome it. Just know you were responsible for Big Sister's bloody demise! ...And what of the rest of you? Eh? Who wants the honour of killing the exalt? ...No one? Bah! Your merry little band isn't quite so headstrong anymore, is it? Pathetic!" he goaded.

"Damn you!" Chrom roared.

"Now, now, my boy — no one needs to die today. Not you. Not the exalt. Not your friends. Just lay down your sword and give me the Fire Emblem."

"...I..." he stuttered.

"Chrom! You can't trust him!" Robin cried in a fit of desperation.

"Of COURSE I can't trust him! I'm not an idiot!" roared the prince at his tactician, red with rage. Robin curled into his coat. "But if I say no, he'll kill her! The gods are cruel, damn them! My sister or my duty... A problem with no right answer, yet I must choose!"

The half-ghoul twitched with the urge to do something, anything to fix this dilemma. Sending Cordelia and Sumia would only lead them to the same end as their knight-sisters. Impossible to consider. He wanted to run, slay every Risen in sight, retrieve Emmeryn, and then chop Gangrel down until he reached that wretched heart. But the arrows would loose before then, and Emmeryn would fall too quickly for him to catch. And a ghoul, a Grimaspawn, in the company of the exalted family, of Naga's sacred blood, would be blasphemy, sullying the name of the exalt, and the Halidom of Ylisse. Was the distrust of the world thereafter worth saving Emmeryn? He would be put to death where he stood. Was saving her worth his own life?

Yet it was impossible anyway. If only he wasn't such a picky eater. If only he'd eaten one of those Grimleal. He'd then have the power to catch her. But his stomach was empty. And without this fuel, the kakuhou was useless. He did not have the strength of a ghoul at his side, at the worst possible time. Rosewald would not get far without Gangrel, Aversa, or those two Ghoul Restaurant members getting him first.

There was no such thing as luck, or fate. Only circumstances, created by the strong. No miracle would save them. Robin couldn't move. He was useless here, paralysed, hopeless. He was too weak to change this. There was no way of voiding this dilemma. The only solution would be a sacrifice — Gangrel's ultimatum.

When he looked up to hearing his name whispered, Emmeryn gazed back at him sternly, and almost imperceptibly shook her head.

“Don't give it up,” she mouthed. He froze.

The Fire Emblem. The Fire Emblem had the power to save millions, but only so long as it was in the right hands. Sacrificing the Fire Emblem was sacrificing the future. Sacrificing Emmeryn was sacrificing but one person.

With the simple, undeniable logic clearing his head from the cloud of pointless, useless, irrational emotions, he spoke, "I know it's hard to admit, Chrom, but it's the only choice. Compared to the lives of thousands, one person, any one person, is—"

"DON'T!" Chrom cried, the betrayal in his tone silencing Robin more than this ultimatum ever could. "Just... don't say it."

Chrom was being stupid. There was no way to save Emmeryn and the Fire Emblem. Sacrificing the Fire Emblem was impossible. He knew that. Sacrificing Emmeryn was the only way. Trying to save both now would be forsaking both.

"What's this?" Gangrel asked, looking between Chrom and Robin. "You'll let your sister and ruler die, all to save some old family trinket? Oh, so delicious! I can't WAIT to hear what your people have to say about it! 'THE EXALT IS DEAD! LONG LIVE HER MURDERER!' Your halidom will collapse before you could even begin your rule..."

"We'll see, when the time comes," snarled the prince. He gripped the sheathed Falchion. "But first, I'll see you dead!"

"No wait!" a voice commanded from above.

"SILENCE!" Gangrel snapped at Emmeryn.

"Emm..." Chrom murmured, his stance softening.

"King Gangrel, is there no hope you will listen to reason?" she asked, almost hopefully.

"You mean listen to more of your sanctimonious babble?! I think not," growled the Mad King. "No, all I want is to hear a THUNK of arrows, and a SPLAT as you hit the ground. Take one long, last look from your perch. You do so enjoy looking down on people... Then, prepare to meet the ground, and your maker! That is, unless if someone were to give me the Emblem... NOW!"

Emmeryn quietened, bowing her head in sorrow.

"ALRIGHT!" Chrom yelled, garnering everyone's attention. "Alright... Emm, I know you won't approve, but this is my final decision. MAYBE someday we'll face a crisis where MAYBE the Emblem would've helped. But I know for a fact that Ylisse needs you, today! The people need their exalt... And we need our sister. If those dark days should come, we'll face them together."

He gazed up at her, seemingly awaiting a joyful agreement to his logic.

"Chrom..." she whispered, then gathered herself. "Th-Thank you. I know now what I must do..."

His smile fell. "Emm, what are you—"

"Plegians! I ask that you hear the truth of my words!" Emmeryn's gentle yet firm voice easily resonated across the desert landscape, beckoning their sincere attention. "War will win you nothing but sadness and pain, both inside your borders and out. Free yourselves from this hatred! From this cycle of pain and vengeance. Do what you must... As I will do." Taking a strong, resolved step forward, she proclaimed, "See now that one selfless act has the power to change the world!"

"Emm, no! No!" Chrom cried in panic, breaking into a sprint towards the end of the high perch. The arrows did not fly, as Gangrel, too, stared at the exalt.

Robin gaped as the horrifying realisation set in.

* * *

Emmeryn silently observed her brother racing towards her, futilely. Besides his pants for breath, his feet frantically hitting the sandstone, and the slight desert breeze, all was silent.

_"No reaction... Was I wrong, then?"_ she couldn't help but think, shifting her gaze to look upon the dusty mountains in the distance.

Overhead, she heard an eagle cry, and watched its silhouette glide above them all, immune to the conflict below.

_"Chrom, this is some torch I'm passing you..."_

She closed her eyes, and sighed. She wouldn't be able to save both herself and the Emblem. This dilemma could only be solved one way.

_'You must sacrifice one thing to save another.'_

Such had been Binge Eater's words, but Emmeryn had never acted upon them. Those words were no philosophy to live by, despite their irrefutable truth.

The ghoul had no way of understanding how dubious and twisted she was by human standards. She hadn't shielded Emmeryn from the gory sight of her and her son eating back then. Why would she have, when it was completely normal to her? Robin, as a young child, would naturally have comprehended the weight of their existence even less. Especially with his emotional state, him unable to apparently feel anything.

No. That was a lie. Now that Emmeryn thought of it, he hadn't been entirely emotionless back then. She had been so captivated by his moony eyes, that she hadn't recognised it until seeing that same expression just now. He had possessed one emotion, or rather, it had seemed to possess him and everything he did.

Fear.

He had been afraid to be held by an eleven year old, had screamed when one of the men had taken but a single step in their direction, and had clung to his mother for dear life whenever he could despite there being no danger. Only when he slept had his grip loosened, yet only marginally.

Emmeryn hadn't noticed at the time, but she now realised there had been absolutely no composure left in the mother's posture when she had held her trembling son then. All the feminine poise and grace she had retained when speaking to the exalt, and even her hedonistic ferocity when fighting, had crumbled. Emmeryn was certain she had even sniffled at one point, and breathed heavily at the sight of her son in such a vulnerable state. To say she had been sad would have been an understatement, but Emmeryn could never have quite placed the exact emotion or the reason for it, especially with it as concealed as it was. All she knew was that Robin's mother had gone from spreading horror in her opponents' hearts to feeling it in her own.

Still, if, as Binge Eater had said, it was necessary to sacrifice one thing to save another, and Emmeryn would never have someone else be hurt...

"So be it..." she whispered.

Gathering her final resolve, she opened her eyes, stepped to the edge of her perch, and clasped her hands as if in prayer. Despite the fragile gesture, her eyes shone with purpose. Her perseverance for kindness, generosity, and peace, she knew, would no longer go in vain.

For all she knew, loved, and hated in this world, for what all would consider right. For the sake of Ylisse and Plegia both.

She leaned forward, and fell.

_"Chrom..."_

Her brother reached out, as if he could will her to stop falling, stop her impending doom. He screamed.

_"Lissa..."_

The girl doubled over and covered her eyes, wailing in despair.

_"And all my people..."_

She looked to who they had taken in, and felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. For Robin to have a past of nothing but terror... It was beyond words.

She could protect them no longer. That would be her only regret.

A single tear escaped her jade eyes just before they closed.

A forgiving smile was the last expression to ever be on her face.

_"...Know that I loved you."_

The eagle disappeared up into the sun's blinding rays, a final call escaping it.

Her golden curls billowing behind her stopped when she hit the ground. Her robes gently covered her body like a blanket.

And Exalt Emmeryn would lie still forevermore.

* * *

Chrom slowed to a halt, hand still stretched out to his sister. He collapsed before her corpse. He gradually lowered his head into his hands, a shaky whisper escaping his trembling body.

"Emm..."

"Oh gods..." Robin spoke weakly, voice fainter than a breeze.

"DAMN YOU, GANGREL!" Chrom screamed, tears streaming down his face as he blindly reached for his sword, still on his knees.

"NOOOOOO!" Lissa cried in anguish, collapsing into the sand.

Gangrel was screeching with laughter. Madame A was praising him. PG grinned darkly. Aversa hummed lowly, almost in disinterest. Rosewald bowed his head, eyes closed.

"Well now! How disgustingly noble," spat the Mad King. "And so lovely a fall! Here I thought death to be an ugly thing. I've never seen one fall so gracefully, in fact. ...And I've seen many fall!" He breathed in deeply, then released it, as if a heavy burden had now been lifted from his shoulders. "Ah... So ends Emmeryn, Ylisse's most exalted! But how can we ensure everyone remembers this beautiful moment of her sacrifice? Perhaps we should gather up her body and put it on display! Bwa ha ha!"

"Gangrel! You die today!" Chrom cried, but didn't stand.

Robin felt a large hand grip his shoulder, only then realising his legs were trembling.   
"No, boy! I secured an escape route!" Khan Basilio yelled angrily. But as Robin looked, the man also had a grim look in his eye. "We have to flee!"

The prince slowly turned to face the others, and murmured pleadingly, "B-But...her body... I have to..."

"You have to RUN! Now do it!" ordered the Feroxi. When he was ignored, he strengthened his grip on the tactician, and pushed him forward. "Robin! Don't let him do anything stupid!"

Robin stumbled feebly to a halt. What was this? Why did this happen? He couldn’t think.

"Shit," he heard the West-Khan curse, and observed absently how the Feroxi ran to Chrom himself, and roughly pulled him to his feet. "Get up! GET UP, BOY!"

"E-Emm's..." Chrom's hoarse, drained protests went ignored, as Basilio focused on getting them out of the Risen's range whilst keeping the prince on his legs.

Robin heard Khan Flavia order a full retreat, verbally beating the shocked and reluctant into moving. He listlessly noticed Lon'qu hoist a crying Lissa up onto Frederick's mount, the great knight getting up behind her and grasping the reins with his arms around her. He felt Libra grab him by the arm and tug him away from the failed mission.

He had suggested this end. This was the only logical course of action. One life was nothing compared to millions. Sacrificing Emmeryn to save the Emblem was correct, wasn't it?

So why did this somehow feel so...? What was this feeling of "wrongness"?

Exalt Emmeryn was dead.

* * *

Watching in horror as all her efforts were proven vain, Marth murmured fearfully, "No! No... I'm too late..."

Their bleak future was written once more. Darkness awaited them all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a dialogue option where Robin would say to sacrifice the Fire Emblem instead, but Emmeryn still intervenes, and the outcome is the same. There's no saving her.
> 
> And in the next chapter, prepare for more tears.


	19. March Of Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a link to the cutscene from the last chapter: https://youtu.be/ct0z52brbnQ
> 
> And here’s a link to the track that plays throughout this chapter, “Don’t speak her name!”: https://youtu.be/21O9x8nYoqY
> 
> YOU WILL LISTEN TO IT! 
> 
> (And die.)

“Hurry! There should be carriages just through the ravine!” rallied Khan Basilio, voice booming through the storm as they paused in the Midmire.  
  
Robin looked up from beneath his cowl. The blackened sky roared with thunder, wailed with the wind, vented its frustration with the lightening, as if mourning their loss with them. All of them were soaked to the bone, to the point where diving into a lake would have been dryer, and caked in mud. Despite still being deep in Plegian territory, the desert more closely resembled a swamp, and everyone was freezing in the rain. The Feroxi seemed especially unaccustomed to this weather, but vocalised no complaints in the sombre air.  
  
Chrom stared into space, apparently unaware of the khan asking for his attention. Robin feebly tugged his left sleeve, which was drenched and uncomfortably stuck to the prince’s skin.  
  
“Chrom, please...” he pleaded.  
  
Growling as he awoke from his mournful trance, Chrom jerked his arm out of his tactician’s grip. “I’m... I’m coming.”  
  
“Quickly! We're almost... Huh?” Basilio stopped as he faced westwards again. “Damn!”  
  
West through the Midmire ran the fell dragon’s bones, leviathan ribs arching across the landscape, some broken and collapsed. And atop them were wyvern riders prepared to fly. Across the rest of the mud and up the northern climb were more barbaric axemen and lancers, blocking all routes of escape.  
  
“Plegians! I knew it couldn't be that easy...” Khan Basilio removed his silver axe from his back, hefting it with a weariness Robin had never seen in him before. “They're right in our way! We must fight!”  
  
From their northwest, atop one of the ribs, a voice called down, “Ylisseans!”  
  
The man speaking to them was a Plegian general, an axeman, with many old battle scars proudly marring his chest. His head was bald, save for a dark beard, and his brown eyes showed a level experience only a veteran could have.  
  
There had been no malice in his tone as he continued, “I offer you mercy! Surrender to me now and live!”  
  
“Surrender?” spat the West-Khan. “Sorry, I'm not familiar with the word.”

The general did not yet reach for his weapon. Instead, he said, “Emmeryn would not have wished for this to come to bloodshed.”

Chrom’s head whipped up, eyes burning like pyres, fists clenched and teeth bared in a vicious snarl as he roared, “Don't speak her name!”  
  
The man lowered his head. “Your rage is justified, Prince Chrom. But the meaning of your sister's final sacrifice was not lost on me. I suspect many Plegians who heard her final words would say the same. If you lay down your weapons, I vow to protect you as best I can.”

“How can we trust you after what your barbarous king has done?” Frederick scoffed, silver lance at the ready. “I think we shall take our chances with weapons in hand!”

The general sighed — with regret? — at their hostility. “I suspected you would say as much. So be it, Prince Chrom. I shall endeavour to grant you a swift and dignified end.”

He then turned and descended to the other side of the colossal bone, awaiting the Ylisseans’ assault.

“Your orders, Robin?” Frederick inquired over the rain.

The Feroxi army, led by Khan Flavia, was stalling the Plegian pursuit ordered by the Mad King from the capital. He could therefore not rely on integrating their strength into this strategy. The Shepherds faced this battle alone.

Robin turned to face those behind him, all shivering and gazes lowered, none with their weapons ready. But they would be. He lifted his hood a little, and announced simply, “Same pairs as before. We’ll head north and then carve our way west towards the general.”

“Well?! You heard him, kids!” Khan Basilio yelled when no one moved that instant. “Get your arses saddled! Hey, boy! Get back here!”

“Captain, stop!” Sumia pleaded.

As the Shepherds sluggishly formed their groups, Chrom broke from the party and charged straight up the muddy climb, engaging any Plegian who dared impede his rage-driven frenzy.

At Robin’s order, the pegasus knight spurred her mount into a low flight, to watch Chrom and hopefully prevent their leader from getting himself killed in his reckless hacking and slashing.  
  
Perhaps if she’d flown up to the spire, Her Grace would still be alive. She should have done it. She should have risked it all to save her. She was a Shepherd, a soldier, an Ylissean pegasus knight. She had failed in her duty. All she could do now was try to stop Chrom from getting himself killed, protect Lissa, and pray everyone would survive the pain.  
  
Stahl has his work cut out trying to keep Sully in check. On a rampage much like the Captain, words fell from her mouth that would have made even the hardiest of Feroxi flinch and keep their parts carefully guarded. Her greatest dream had been to become the strongest knight Ylisse could offer, stronger than any male peers in their meagre army.

“This is BULLSHIT!” She yelled as she impaled an enemy through the skull. “The hell these shitheads’re gettin’ away with this! I’m gonna cut off Gangrel’s fuckin’ balls and shove ‘em down his throat while he’s still kickin’!”  
  
Stahl, too, felt the void in his chest. While Sully vented her frustration with profanity and brutality, he could barely find it in him to direct his horse across the mud. And, for once, his empty stomach had no complaints to make.  
  
Lon’qu had felt like covering his ears since the exalt’s fall. Hearing Lissa’s wails pained him, even though he tried his hardest to retain a respectable distance at all times and limited his interactions with her. But he understood her pain, even if it had been a long time since he had felt the same way. Even so, he could not quite place his emotions at that moment, a trait he imagined Virion, Panne, Gregor, and Tharja would probably share. Exalt Emmeryn had not been their sovereign, but her benevolence had reached far wider than Ylisse alone.

Maribelle has been trying her hardest to comfort the inconsolable Lissa as Lon’qu and Ricken sought to shield them. She also batted Plegians away from her treasure with her now-useless lacy parasol. She felt Ricken trembling against her back as he cast as many spells as he could manage. Whether he shivered from cold or grief, she couldn’t be certain — perhaps both — but she knew he was thinking the same thing she was.

Maybe if she had sacrificed herself at the Border Pass, rather than let war be declared, none of this would have happened. A noble’s duty was to their sovereign (she despised those who failed to acknowledge this truth). But no. Gangrel would have found a reason to have his war, one way or another. If only something could have been done.

Vaike had once been a delinquent, until Exalt Emmeryn had visited his village. While many had mocked and resented her despite how warmly she spoke of peace, her perseverance through their abuse had been a strength Vaike had never noticed before. He’d changed his ways after hearing those words. Meeting her, and then Chrom, were probably the two best days of his life.  
  
Beside him, Miriel was oddly silent, barely sparing him any acknowledgment, let alone studying the physics behind his movements. She instead focused entirely on burning their opponents to ash and clearing a path up the ravine. Then again, Vaike figured, he hadn’t spoken much either, for once.

Cordelia had failed. She had fled from the border when Gangrel had invaded, which led to Ylisstol’s fall. She had not flown to rescue Her Grace. Sumia and she were the only known pegasus knights alive, so they would have to carry Captain Phila’s legacy.

Frederick slaughtered his opponents with the ease of experience, but even through the rain, Cordelia could tell his form was more sluggish, unfocused. His expression, stern and sharp as ever, had a hint of sorrow breaching his façade. Every Ylissean knight, be it foot-soldier, cavalry, or flyer, swore an oath to the exalt — that they would give their own lives so she might live. Frederick had devoted his entire existence to the exalted line, becoming Chrom and Lissa’s guard before even being of age.  
  
Having failed to protect them, Cordelia knew she was not alone with this agonising remorse.

“Oi, up here, lad!” Basilio called from the top of one of the ribs, making a beckoning motion at Robin. As the tactician silently joined him, glancing over at Sumia holding Chrom’s shoulder — of his blood-covered sword arm, the one with the Brand —, the West-Khan gestured to the Plegian general, two ribs ahead. “Something’s up.”  
  
True to the khan’s observation, a seemingly disturbed lancer was making his way up towards his general. With the rain, wind, and thunder, it was more of a struggle to focus on his words, but Robin’s ears reached just in time. (The pungent smell of blood was immensely distracting. His innards coiled.)

“Forgive me sir,” the soldier was saying, “but I...I no longer see the justice in hunting these people down. I accept any punishment you see fit, but after all that's happened...I just can't.”

From the nearest rib, warningly raising his axe, a wyvern rider snarled down at his comrade, “How dare you question the general's orders! You know full well the punishment of insubordination is death!”  
  
“B-but, sir!” stammered the lancer, struggling to meet his general’s eyes. “These people are—“

“These questions are not ours to ponder, lad,” said the general slowly, quietly. “The soldier does not judge. The soldier delivers judgment.”  
  
“Sir, I...” The lancer shook his head in frustration, lowering his weapon. “I cannot raise my lance against them. Even if... Even if it means death.”  
  
His general was silent for a moment. “...You were there when Emmeryn spoke, weren't you? So be it! Those of you unwilling to fight are dismissed!” he announced to his men.  
  
Most of them halted as if it had been an order, some staring at their general in relief, others in disbelief. Many who had yet to fall victim to the Shepherds seemed troubled either way. They had never hidden their reluctance to fight, not since the beginning of the battle. Yet, in spite of the explicit permission to leave should they wish to, they hesitated.  
  
“But I don't wish to abandon you, sir!” cried the soldier who had triggered the disquiet.  
  
The man gave a heavy sigh. “I cannot defy the king, lad. I know him well. He would murder my wife and child to set an example. I will accept the blame for your actions today. Now go!”

He waved his arm in the general direction from which they had approached, a dismissal. The soldier followed the movement with his gaze, but made no indication of moving.

Eventually, he gripped his lance. “W-wait, General Mustafa! I see a cause worth fighting for, one I believe in—“ He took a salute. “Loyalty to my general.”  
  
General Mustafa’s gaze softened, and he placed a hand on the lancer’s shoulder.  
  
“...Aye. That's a good lad,” he said, sincerely regretful.  
  
Robin’s concentration was broken by another of Sumia’s cries.  
  
“Chrom, stop! You’ll get yourself killed!”  
The prince still stormed off into the field, swinging Falchion with nothing but murderous intent, like a man possessed.  
  
Even though no one would return the blows.  
  
Gaius and Anna fought as a part of the same team as the last battle. Neither had known Exalt Emmeryn especially well, but the two red-haired thieves understood the sorrowful air about them. The closest the merchant had ever come to meeting her had been through her sisters’ monstrous profits from selling wares to the royalty. She could thank the late exalt for that at least.  
  
Gaius had met Exalt Emmeryn once. After the foiled assassination attempt, for which he had turned on his client to save her, she had personally thanked him for his part in the fortification of the castle. Though she had not been able to lift his criminal charges, she had eased the sentences. Even something as small as that proved a goodwill he knew to be rare.  
  
It had been an exalt who had not wished for Panne’s kind to be hunted. When that had made no difference, it had been an exalt who had apologised on mankind’s behalf. Panne respected strength. Exalt Emmeryn had not been strong. She had been confusing — apologising for what she’d had no part in — but kind. Perhaps, that kindness, against all the odds it had faced, was a unique kind of strength. Panne the taguel would fight for both her race and Exalt Emmeryn’s will.  
  
Without Frederick’s strict guidance, Donnel’s swordsmanship was stripped of all his confidence, and Nowi was a shell of her otherwise cheerful self. The manakete fought to shield him from attacks and obliterate any in their path in her dragon form, but it was with the same grim resignation everyone shared. Her roars were only distortions of a little girl’s cries.  
  
Libra was reciting an endless prayer as he fought. He prayed to not only the Divine Dragon Naga, but to all the gods new and old save the fell dragon. He prayed Her Grace would be welcomed into the heavens with the same benevolence she had always exuded. He prayed Ylisse would make a full recovery. He prayed for the war to end swiftly, and for there to be nothing but peace in the centuries to follow.  
  
Kellam usually went unnoticed, but that day in particular, everyone was too trapped in their own minds to notice others. He knew those unseeing looks, otherwise directed only at him, now the only gazes borne to anyone. The usual teamwork and coordination the Shepherds thrived from was forgotten and gone. Nobody would see a nobody when they couldn’t even see their own path forward.  
  
Chrom didn’t stop in his mad massacre as he made his way to the general. The rain did not wash away the blood and the mud coating him, itching disgustingly, but he couldn’t care less as he slew each and every Plegian in his way. Sumia had said several times they didn’t want to fight. He spat at the words. Wasn’t it obvious?! Gangrel had killed her! They had killed Emm! They were responsible for her death! They had taken the dearest person in the world from him!  
  
They would all fucking pay!  
  
Finally, after far too long, he reached their general. Soaked in rain, mud, and bodily fluids, panting and growling like a rabid dog, he raised his crimson, sacred Falchion.  
  
“I am General Mustafa of Plegia,” the Plegian said ruefully — Fake! —, reluctantly unsheathing his axe from his back — Lie! —, and then continued solemnly — Mockery! —, “If you wish to keep your lives, then you must win them!”  
  
“I plan to!” Chrom snarled at the Plegian. The word itself made him gag.  
  
It happened all too quickly, though he didn’t give a damn about the details. He disarmed the Plegian by cutting off the dominant arm, kicked him into the mud, and ran his holy sword through his gut.  
  
“Well done, Ylisseans...” coughed out the Plegian, dark blood spilling from his mouth. He groaned, “Please...spare my men...”  
  
“Like HELL!” Chrom roared, and raised his blade again as blood spilled from the wound. Falchion came down again. Then again. And again! Until this Plegian would be reduced to a pulp of blood and guts. Even as the cries turned to grunts and grew weaker and stopped entirely.

Chrom ignored the hot, sticky blood splattered over his front as he stabbed the Plegian corpse again. Falchion came down, its silver and gold blade bathed in blood, as it became the tool of catharsis for his hatred and fury.

As he made to raise the sword again, arms wrapped themselves around his from behind, pinning them to his sides and restraining him.  
  
“Chrom, please...!” Robin begged, but whatever more he was going to say vanished as Chrom directed his glare upon the boy. From beneath his cowl, he could only see the lower half of his white face and a few locks of equally white hair.  
  
The only eyes he saw were the violet symbols on his coat.  
  
He elbowed Robin in the gut, successfully getting the tactician to recoil and let him finish with the Plegian below him.  
  
“Stop!” Arms in Grimleal robes restrained him again, and Chrom ripped himself out of Robin’s grasp with his greater strength. He turned and met the boy with bared teeth, blood-splattered face contorted with ire. Robin shrunk back instantly, as if hoping his Plegian coat would swallow him up.  
  
“What?” Chrom’s voice dripped with venom. “I should just leave him be after what he’s done?!”  
  
“All he did was let his men retreat!” Robin cried. “No one wants to fight! Not even the Plegians! Their general’s defeated and the men are in full retreat! We can lea—“  
  
“BULLSHIT!” Chrom roared. He took forceful steps towards Robin, who cowered under his gaze. “They killed Emm! They took everything away from me! I’LL MAKE THEM PAY!”  
  
Twin trails of water ran down Robin’s face, sheltered from the rain. “You can’t blame them for what Gangrel did! General Mustafa did nothing wrong! He just wanted his men to live!”  
  
They’d killed her and he couldn’t blame them? He couldn’t blame them for wanting her dead? He couldn’t blame them for murdering her?  
  
“So, you’re siding with them?” he asked Robin.  
  
“Wha—“  
  
“I should have known,” Chrom said lowly through gritted teeth. He raised Falchion. “I should’ve never picked you up in that field. I should’ve killed you the moment I saw you. You’re just another PLEGIAN! Another MONSTER THAT WANTED EMM DEAD!”  
  
Somewhere, Sumia was saying something to him. He didn’t hear or care over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears.  
  
Chrom felt flesh part readily beneath Falchion’s steel, more wretched Plegian blood burst across his face. The Plegian before him fell to the ground, and Chrom swiftly raised his blade to slash him again.  
  
The sword came down. It met steel.  
  
The blond war monk, Libra, came into focus, his black Killer Axe scraping against Falchion. The man’s jade eyes, always calm and serene when they looked upon their prince, gleamed with an iciness uncharacteristic of a clergyman.  
  
“Enough!” Libra snapped at him, easily pushing Chrom down into the mud, “Stop, now!”  
  
Chrom scrambled to his feet, huffing at the effort for his suddenly aching, exhausted limbs, only for a lance haft to cross over his midriff, then be pulled back into him, yanking him back and smashing him against a pegasus’ front armour plate.  
  
“Chrom, PLEASE STOP!” Sumia shrieked, maintaining her grip on the lance with enough strength to keep him there. “What are you doing?! HE’S YOUR FRIEND!”  
  
He glanced up at her as he felt the haft tremble. Tears were running down her blanched cheeks, and when Chrom followed her gaze, Falchion slipped from his grip.  
  
Had he done that? He’d hurt his friend so horribly in a blind rage?  
  
A horrid, broad gash ran diagonally from Robin’s abdomen across to his collarbone. Broken bones awkwardly stuck out of the flesh of his rib cage, and Chrom could see his organs in his gut. Robin was gasping wetly, unable to breathe without jerking in pain and coughing up light, bubbly blood. A small amount compared to what was pulsing from his wound and spreading into the mud around his body. He couldn’t even muster a scream when Libra hurriedly poked and prodded him as he examined his injury.  
  
When Sumia’s grip slackened, Chrom burst into a sprint to Robin’s side, opposite Libra already working on treating his wounds.  
  
“Keep him awake!” ordered the clergyman.  
  
Panicking, it took Chrom a moment to process the command. He then gripped Robin’s shoulders tightly and yelled, “Robin! Stay with me! Open your eyes! OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES!”  
  
The silver eyes fluttered, before they widened far too much, staring at him with a fear Chrom had never seen directed his way before. Not even in the faces of his enemies. His face was ashen.  
“I’m sorry, Robin! I’m so sorry!” Chrom cried, moving to grasp Robin’s face with his bloody gloves. “I wasn’t thinking straight! Nothing I said is true!”  
  
Libra was holding his glowing Mend staff over the wound, Sumia carefully pressing each edge of the flesh closer together to aid him. Chrom patted Robin’s face and rambled apologies and promises that everything would be alright to keep him awake as Libra fixed his bones, the pain no doubt helping to keep him conscious.

“Ch...Chrom...” Robin weakly choked on his name, and the prince moved his face closer to hear him. “Tsu...kare...”

“Robin, stay awake!” Libra yelled at the Chon’sin words then, visibly torn between concentrating on the healing and looking at his patient’s face. “Stay awake!”  
  
Chrom took a more forceful approach and slapped Robin across the face. “Don’t you dare close your eyes! Don’t...”

Robin couldn’t hear them anymore.

After a moment filled with only the sound of the rain and his own ragged breathing, Libra sighed. “That’s all I can do right now...”  
  
Chrom looked down to see he and Sumia bandaging the wound.  
  
“But...it’s still open!” he exclaimed, as he watched the last of it disappear beneath the reddening bandages.  
  
“All the healers are exhausted,” Sumia answered. “Libra’s just about run out of mana. If he continues, he’ll faint, too.”

“Believe me when I say I am the most frustrated about all this,” Libra said tiredly, preparing to carry Robin.

“Khan Basilio!” a young woman called from where the rest of the Shepherds were.  
  
“Olivia! I'm sorry we kept you waiting,” the West-Khan answered the woman, cloaked with only two rose-coloured plaits escaping her hood.

“When I didn't hear from you, I thought... I assumed the worst,” she stammered quietly, her grip on her lantern trembling.  
  
Climbing up the hill to them, Khan Basilio announced, “Chrom? Robin? Meet Olivia. She'll be smuggling us out of here.” At the sight of the tactician, he grimaced. “Shit. Good thing, too.”  
  
“Only if you hurry!” Olivia warned. “Doubtless more of the Mad King's men are on their way.”  
  
“Right. Pile in, you lot! And bid farewell to this Plegian hellhole,” Khan Basilio yelled to the others, before helping Libra and Chrom carry Robin with as little jostling as possible, Sumia gathering Falchion and her pegasus before taking to the sky again.

They carefully placed him on the floor of the last wagon, which thankfully provided shelter form the rain. Nothing else went on the floor save for Libra’s provisions, as the war monk stayed to attend to any future needs. Chrom was dragged away to the first wagon.  
  
“Ready? Hold on tight!” he heard Olivia announce, and the shire horses lurched the wagons northwards. Even as they were pulled to the safety of Ferox, there wasn’t even a shred of relief.  
  
Why would there be? They had failed.

Emm was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word Robin didn’t quite finish was 疲れた 【つかれた】 (tsukareta), meaning “tired/worm out” [Non-Keigo]. 
> 
> This chapter was done quite quickly, mainly because I felt the original was actually OK (especially after some encouragement). Much of this is copied and paraphrased. Still, the severity of some scenes has increased, and the two cases of plagiarism have been removed.


	20. Wanderers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to do line breaks.

Libra’s first mistake, he made when barely fourteen years old.   
  
There was uproar in Ylisstol that day, arising from the square. Fortunately, the Cathedral of Naga was a safe distance away. Unfortunately, Libra had been sent to deliver food from the Cathedral to the poor and homeless lining the backstreets. No one particularly minded this task, as they were mostly all soldiers who fell victim to the last exalt’s war. With no home, no money, and no one who could take them in, it was only right to help them. Libra only minded this as he was always, without fail, mistaken for a girl.

Normally, another from the cathedral’s orphanage would accompany him, but he hadn’t shown up that day. So, Libra was left to deal with this torment alone.

He handed out what he could to the hungry. Apples, potatoes, all the cathedral filled with victims could still afford to spare to those in the Divine Dragon Naga’s favour. Some leered at him. Some looked away. Others did not have the presence of mind for either. All were scarred.

As he turned into an alley heading towards the main street, relieved no one had made him particularly uncomfortable, he faltered.

Leaning against a wall, partially concealed by a couple of barrels and crates on either side, sat a Grimleal.

His first instinct was to turn and walk away. He had no more provisions to give. This Grimleal — a woman, given the dress — would not easily be accepted anywhere in Ylisse. The fact she proclaimed her faith so openly with that coat proved as much.

And so, holding no obligation or way to help, Libra turned to leave.

Until he heard a child’s voice.

All prejudices and sense preservation instantly forgotten, Libra rushed back, dropping the empty basket he’d held, and stopped at the barrels, peeking over one at her.

Her cowl concealed much of her youthful face, but he could tell she was not Ylissean. Amaranthine locks of hair brushed her collarbone beneath the coat’s fastenings. The edges of her off-white dress were worn and coated in mud. Her travel boots were in much the same state. What truly caught his attention, however, was the black-bound being she clutched to her bosom, knees pulled up to shield it from Libra.

It was the child. Paler than a girl’s doll and only the size of one. Their face was partially buried in their mother’s chest, exposing only thin wisps of white hair to the draft creeping through the passage.

In all Libra’s runs through here, he had never seen something like this.

He eventually found his voice. “A-are you alright...?”

The mother’s head lifted, though he suspected she had known he was there longer than he’d known of her.

“Why are you here?” Her voice was soft, but guarded. She bore a prominent accent, though it didn’t quite match the warning descriptions he’d heard of a Plegian one. Her speech was nonetheless rather fluent, all thing considered. “Aren’t you religious?”

Libra crept around the barrel, and focused on enunciating clearly as he replied, “Yes. I’m here to help the homeless. I have not seen one with a child before.”

As he knelt before her, he could see what had previously been concealed by her robes. She was rather young, with almond shaped eyes the same beautiful purple as her hair, which had its parting on the right side and was brushed over her left eyebrow. Red half-moon glasses rested on her flattened nose, and her delicate lips were a soft pink. That was his first impression.

A more detailed observation showed Libra that her hair was matted with grease and dirt, her eyes were tired, her glasses askew, and her lips were chapped, with two clearly tooth-shaped indentations on her lower one from incessant nervous chewing. This beautiful woman, this mother, had lost any gracefulness she may have had to poverty and pain.

She was still silent, even though he’d pointed out her child. She only clutched him more tightly.

“Is your child hungry?” he asked, restraining himself from reaching out to touch the pale one.

She shook her head. “He just isn’t sleeping.”

“Is he hurt?”

“No. But afraid,” she said.

Afraid? A boy as young as this would know fear so powerful he couldn’t even sleep in his mother’s arms? He could only hope she had mistranslated something, although she hadn’t hesitated in her speech.

Libra understood such fear.

“Would you let me have a look at him?” he asked slowly. All clergy were healers. Surely that knowledge would prompt her to seek out his help? He didn’t want to have to elaborate any further.

She hesitated, understandably, but the wish to see her son well seemed to win her over. She carefully plied his grip from her, lowered her legs and shifted to sit on her haunches. The blond shuffled closer as she turned her child around on her lap, hushing him when he reached back for her, making little sounds Libra could only assume were protests in their language.

Keeping a reassuring grip on him, she tilted the boy’s little head to look at Libra. Big silver eyes met his.

“Hello, little one,” cooed the blond, feeling nothing short of star-struck. He had never seen a child anything like this one, not even among the most unfortunate in the orphanage.

He carefully felt the child’s forehead, then his sides through the dark blanket. Though he did not have a fever, he did feel a little cold, and very thin. A bandage was wrapped around his right hand, though there was no heat coming from it, nor was it swollen or showing signs of redness, so it seemed properly taken care of. When he asked, the mother assured him it was perfectly fine.

The boy was pliant throughout. At first, Libra had assumed it to be his mother’s reassurances. And it was, partially, but the laxness was mostly due to the boy’s complete and utter exhaustion. His eyes were blinking slowly, but whenever they seemed to close for a little too long and his head lolled, the child jolted himself awake again. He refused to sleep no matter how bone-aching his fatigue had to be. With the state his mother was in, Libra found it difficult to imagine them having slept in a bed recently.

“How...? He doesn’t usually like men,” whispered his mother in awe, startling Libra at the suddenness, and again when the words processed.

Libra hated people treating him like a fragile young girl. Of course, he had hoped that his girlish characteristics would fade once he entered puberty, but even his voice breaking had made little difference. It just sounded like a slightly deeper female voice, nothing too out of the ordinary. Libra's appearance was androgynous at best, downright womanly at worst. He'd had young men approach him under he belief that he was a fair, innocent cleric...

An experience he did not yearn to repeat.

Which was why her words came as such a surprise to him.

She’d noticed he was a boy.

"I...thank you,” he stammered, before realising how odd that must have sounded to her. “Um, how old is he?”

“Two.”

“Oh no...” Libra mumbled, reluctantly retracting his hands. “He’s too small, and malnourished. You mustn’t have seen a bed in weeks!”

“I have the money, though few wish to house someone like me,” she said sharply. “The prejudice here runs deep, to all foreigners.”

Grimleal or no, Plegian or no, refugee or no, to leave anyone in the same realm as the Divine Dragon to suffer so would be sinful. Especially with a child. That would be unforgivable.

Mind made up, Libra stood and held out a hand to her.

“Please, come to the Cathedral of Naga!” he begged. “Whether your faith lies in the fell or the Divine Dragon, I cannot leave you here in good conscience. You will have food, a bath, a bed, and warmth. I’m sure you and your child both need it.”

Lips parted in surprise, the woman stuttered for a moment, before a soft smile formed. It lit up her face, dispelling her wearied appearance.

Allowing her son to curl up against her, she carefully stood. Once she’d regained her balance, she grabbed a rather large pack, which she had concealed behind the crates, and shouldered it.

“Believe it or not, my faith has always lain in Lady Naga,” she said, with such conviction Libra almost believed it.

“Then, why wear a Grimleal coat?” he questioned as he picked up the empty basket.

Her gaze flicked down. “A reminder of my sins.”

* * *

Libra received a harsh scolding for taking her to the Cathedral of Naga, even though it was no sin. If word were to spread of them housing a refugee, a Grimleal, all others on the streets would come banging at their doors, and they did not have the necessities to provide for even a fraction more of them.

Even so, they could have never turned the mother and child down face to face, so they gained entrance. They could bathe, their clothing was washed, and they were provided with bedrolls, but the mother turned down any offers of food. When asked why, she had said she and her son had eaten. When the clergy persisted, she asked why they would offer such to a nourished woman when others housed there were starving.

“Surely, if you have so much to spare, you could be more generous in your charity?” she’d said. And Libra had then realised how strongly her accent belied her mastery of the Ylissean language, and how her beauty disguised her bite.

It silenced any other questioning.

Finally, dressed in her own cleaned nightgown, the mother called him to the bedroll she had been given, one of as many as the cathedral could manage to fit in the bedrooms, classrooms, and storage rooms, all rooms but the altar. Her son was tucked in with the blanket to his chin, and finally asleep, tiny breaths coming from him as he drooled onto the small pillow.

“I thought I should thank you,” the mother said softly. She then inclined her head, and continued, “For the great generosity you’ve shown us. I realise the Cathedral was not especially pleased with our arrival.”

Libra’s brow creased slightly as he looked to the sleeping boy. He knew that fear all too well. He’d seen it reflected in mirrors for most of his life. As his parents had believed him to be the bearer of a malevolent spirit, he would atone for that darkness within him.

Libra knew. “He was abused.”

The mother’s eyes fixated him, face shadowed by the candlelight. Her posture was cautious and defensive, almost as though Libra would attack the boy. He couldn’t tell her expression then.

Eventually, she whispered, so the others in the mess hall couldn’t hear, “Yes.” And after another pause. “We leave at first light. Please, speak to no one of that.”

“I promise,” Libra affirmed. He understood. And if he so could, he would advocate their stay. She claimed her faith was in Lady Naga, so surely she would be hunted by the Grimleal. Was her affiliation the sin that coat represented?

Her nightgown fluttered as she sat down beside her son, who didn’t so much as stir. The candle gave her face a warm soft glow. Yet it also emphasised the worry lines and hollow contours on this young woman’s face. She could have barely been an adult, surely.

She gently placed one hand on her son’s fluffy hair, and tucked the blanket more warmly around him with the other. “And thank you for taking care of him at first sight, despite the prejudices so strong here.”

* * *

True to her word, she left with her son before Libra had woken. And true to his word, not even a mention of her ever fell from his lips.

A week later, it was falling from others’.

There were whispers about the halls and on the fields, about a Chon’sin woman and her young child. When Libra caught two war clerics gossiping about it, he dared ask what was happening.

“A purple-haired woman knocked on the door just as the High Priest passed by, and asked for asylum,” said a fuchsia-haired one.

“We can’t provide any, though. There are too many victims and refugees,” murmured the other.

“Where are they now?” Libra asked, almost desperate.

The two woman looked at each other, in concern. “Somehow, she got that audience.”

And later, the High Priest called for every member of the clergy to come to the altar. Though no one made a sound, the air was thick with uncertainty, and chatter would have been a welcome distraction.

Beside the aged High Priest stood the mother, no longer wearing her coat, with her child barely peeking out from behind her black skirt. He gripped the material in his tiny little fists.

Finally, the High Priest spoke, “I understand many of you have objections to a woman who had borne Grimleal robes wandering these halls, so allow me to clarify. This woman, Ri’ze Kamishiro, and her son, Robin, are henceforth in our protection.”

At this, murmurs finally broke out, some turning to more vocal protests.

“High Priest, have you lost your mind?”

“How can we accept this?”

Libra stared at those protesting, the High Priest, Miss Kamishiro, and where her son was each in turn. He saw the mother reach behind her to comfort Robin, though her foreign words could not be heard over the noise.

Voice carrying over the protests and whispers, the man continued, “They are neither Plegian nor Grimleal. Ri’ze has proven her faith in the Divine Dragon to me. More importantly, she is wanted by the Grimleal for treason. Both she and her innocent son will have a fate worse than death should they be caught, so it is in everyone’s interest that they be given asylum in the Cathedral of Naga. Robin Kamishiro shall be raised and educated here, as his mother atones with ora et labora. We will do all in our power to help them, and they shall be living proof that Ylisse must not be blinded by prejudice, lest we follow our last exalt’s path.”

_Ora et labora_. Prayer and labour.

And so, Ri’ze and Robin stayed.

Within their first year among the clergy, there had been over a dozen attempts to assassinate them, including the child. The culprits had each received a tongue lashing — from the High Priest himself no less — that left them with their heads low for days and repenting for weeks. Libra had been able to hear some of them, the words said by the High Priest always being,

'Your attempted act is justified. However, it is unforgivable to take an innocent life. Ri'ze Kamishiro is repenting and Robin has yet to wilfully sin. I'll admit that this is lenient, but it is of mutual interest and of the utmost importance that they remain protected. Killing them will serve to nothing but earning yourself a place in Hell.'

Even so, claims and accusations of the two Chon'sin being 'unholy', 'hellspawn', and the woman being a 'she-devil' continued behind their backs. All she did in response was cover Robin's ears and keep a straight face.

Once the son had picked up enough Ylissean, the sages began to teach him with the other second born nobles and orphans his age. Simultaneously, his mother taught him the Chon'sin equivalents of his studies. It was a heavy workload.

But Robin was nothing if not diligent.

Unlike the other children, Robin was quiet, attentive, and above all obedient. He never talked back to any of the clergy, which was a regular occurrence among his peers, and never broke a rule. When he was told to do something, he did it in a manner intended to surpass expectations. The expectations of the clergy, that is.

Miss Kamishiro, who had taken up duties in the library, archiving literary works old and new, was much harder to please. Libra did not understand a word of Chon'sin, but he heard and saw often enough how ruthless her drilling could be. “Strict” would be a kind term for her parenting.

But it worked, with outstanding results. And Robin clearly adored his mother despite her harshness, rushing to her arms wherever she was and whatever she was doing.

When Libra was eighteen, he had finally become a priest and could devote himself to the gods. Even so, he had to carry on with the same duties as he had before, such as tending to the crops they grew within the abbey connected to the cathedral.

That particular day, as Libra was carrying a basket of potatoes to the mess hall, the yelling of young boys distracted him.

Looking over to the source, he almost dropped the basket in shock.

"Nerd!”

“Peasant!”

"What’s with you, lowlife?!"

Four boys, whom he recognised as second-born nobles, had cornered a six-year-old. Robin. They hurled more abuse at the quiet child, whose otherwise chalk-white face as red and tearful, harmless and cowering against the stone wall. He looked just about ready to scream.

Uncaring for the dropped the basket and spoiled cargo, Libra sprinted over and placed himself between the group of boys and their victim.

"That's enough!" he growled, his sudden appearance shocking them into taking a few steps back.

As they stood stunned, Libra glanced over his shoulder at the tiny boy. One look at Robin — head lowered, shoulders shaking, suppressed whimpers and fat tears escaping him — was enough to make him turn fully to fixate the perpetrators with a seething glare.

"How dare you! He's a little boy, just like you once were, and you would treat him in such a horrible manner? And you dare call yourselves clergy in the name of the divine dragon. You are all a disgrace!”

Libra was usually calm. Cold and distant, even. He never snapped at anyone, let alone children. But this horrifying treatment set alarm bells ringing in him and his frozen heart on fire.

And though feminine he may have been, Libra was an adult, several full heads taller than each of them, with significantly broader shoulders, and their voices had yet to break from childish squeaks. Not to mention that gaining the disdain of a woman was far from respectable.

"He's just a pauper!"

"I hear he's a Grimleal."

Behind him, he felt Robin flinch, and a sob broke free, and became a wail.

Dread crept in when Libra realised the boy had started to cry. From where he stood, he could see the library window was open, so Miss Kamishiro would be certain to hear, too. And an enraged mother would be far worse than anything he could unleash.

"Leave," he forced out from gritted teeth. "I shall discuss this with your tutors later."

As soon as they were out of sight, Libra knelt to face the tiny boy. As softly as he could, he cooed, “Shh... It’s alright. They’re gone now.”

Of course, Robin didn’t calm down. Of course, this child needed to have a good cry. Of course, he would need comfort.

Of course, Libra did not expect capillaries to bulge from Robin’s left eye, or for that eye to be black and red.

And perhaps it was foolish, but Libra spoke of that moment to no one. He simply decided this boy was no monster.

Because monsters did not cry.

(As he would find out much later in life, that was his second mistake.)

* * *

“Thank you for intervening.”

Libra turned fast enough to give himself whiplash, coming face to face with Miss Kamishiro. Although, he should have expected no less, coming into the library barely a day after he had prevented those bullies from further harming Robin.

Her was dressed in a white dress with black lace decorating the collar. The shoulders were frilled, with lavender sleeves coming to her delicate hands. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail resting on her right shoulder, her glasses further giving her a rather innocent, savant look.

Libra was not fooled by that anymore. Should he have said as much?

She spared him the need.

“I know you saw Robin’s eye. I saw the entire altercation.”

There was no one else in the library. The windows were shut, and he belatedly noticed the door was barred.

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“Are you afraid?” She asked it as if this conversation was about the weather.

“No,” he stuttered. Rather unconvincing. When there was no change in her expression, he added, “He’s only a child.”

The same could not be said of her. That unspoken sentence hung in the air like a dark cloud. It could turn into a storm at any moment. Unpredictable.

She lowered her gaze for a moment. “You should know that, unlike me, he is only a half-ghoul.”

Ghoul. Man-eater. Spawn of Grima. The word he had not dared associate with either of them, for fear of running.

At his silence, she continued, “Robin’s abusive father is human. The High Priest knows about us. We may stay here under the condition that we take no innocent lives. So, I hunt criminals in the south. I ensure Robin is never hungry.”

The High Priest knew of this, and would allow ghouls to stay in the Cathedral of Naga?

“You are the only other human who knows of our true nature,” she whispered. “And the first human I have ever seen Robin trust.”

Libra’s brow furrowed. “Surely you’re mistaken.” How would he be the only human Robin trusted?

“Have you seem Robin interact with his peers? Have you seen him interact with his teachers? Did you see him run from you?” She did not give him a chance to respond. “I think the only reason he in any way trusts you, is because you stood up for him, again.”

“Perhaps it was out of a sense of duty, having been the first to bring you here, but... I suppose I have been keeping an eye on him,” he admitted. “You mean to say he associates me with safety?”

Miss Kamishiro inclined her head. For a moment, Libra forgot she was only four years older than him. “Don’t you see it? Children can be surprisingly insightful, I've found. And I'd like to think Robin is rather intelligent for his age beyond simple parental bias.” After a pause, she added, “Which is why you mustn’t fear us. We would never harm you. I could never be the one to teach him about humans. But, you...”

It made sense. The only other human interaction Robin had had were, after all, between indifferent and extremely negative. But he’d only had positive interactions with Libra. If Robin would trust him, he could raise the boy to understand humans and ghouls as equals.

“What would you expect of me, Miss Kamishiro?” he asked, mind made up. He doubted he could do much, but that did not mean he couldn’t try.

“Call me Ri’ze,” she answered with a small smile. “Robin will eventually become too big and too old to share a room with me. I hesitate to let him share a room with someone who does not know about us, but the High Priest is out of the question...”

And so, Robin came share a room with Libra.

It was quite unorthodox for a child to be given a room with someone more than double their age, and it did raise a few questions. Ri’ze explaining the situation of Robin’s social life in no uncertain terms swiftly quelled any objections on the matter. Libra even noticed a few rather ashamed looks from Robin’s teachers. He also took note of how Ri’ze’s reputation had improved during her stay. While before, people had, quite frankly, demonised her, they now took her words to heart. Her accent fading, even if only a little, had also contributed to dampening her impression as a foreigner in asylum and allowing her the opportunity to mingle.

She simply chose to keep her distance from humans. She devoted herself to work, prayer, and above all Robin.

Come to think of it, Libra mused as he sat back from his sketching and turned to look at the eight-year-old sitting on the second bed, he barely noticed the difference from when he had had his room to himself.

He’d had roommates before, when he had been Robin’s age. They had been loud and messy, and he had hated interacting with them. He had tried to keep his presence to a minimum and shrunk away when they’d become feisty.

Robin, on the other hand, was a silent boy. He read, worked, and studied. He was unobtrusive and kept to himself. He never once sought Libra’s attention, to the point where the priest often forgot the boy was there.

That couldn’t be right.

Robin had begun studying magical theory behind both tomes and Chon'sin scrolls, along with the way of the sword. Though Ri’ze did not wield one herself, she was surprisingly knowledgeable on the correct stances and swings. Once his daily training was completed, Robin would repeat the exact same movement hundreds of times until it became as natural as breathing, then switch to the next, and continue to do so until he could barely stand. He would pass out as soon as he hit the his bed, then rest, repeat. Rain and snow did not deter him from this schedule, regardless of colds and other illnesses that followed. He would bear it all with nary a flinch.

He had also taken an interest in prose, namely the Chon'sin books his mother devoured (which she thankfully would not let him read), and strategy tomes. Chess had not been enough to satisfy that thirst, and so the war clergy had started to procure historical strategy memoirs and teach him the ways of war. Since then, his schedule alternated between studies and rigorous exercise.

Ri’ze did nothing to stop this. Libra had once caught her listening in on the lessons, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. When he’d asked, she had simply said that she was proud of him learning how to defend himself, then left.

This was one of the alternate days, when Robin read his strategy tomes with a zeal and concentration unmatched by his peers. Or older students, for that matter. Though the clergy followed the principle ora et labora and their vows of celibacy, not even the most faithful would support this endless work Robin was giving himself.

Looking out of his window, Libra noticed how dark it was outside. Past Robin’s bedtime. This was not the first time he'd missed it, either. But it was the first time Ri’ze had not shown up to tuck her son in.

Sighing, Libra stood from the stool before his easel, stretched, and watched the albino for a moment. With only the candlelight from the desk and the lantern mounted beside the door on the opposite side of the room, Robin would hurt his eyes reading.

“Robin,” he called. “It’s past your bedtime.”

For a moment, he thought the boy had been too distracted to hear him, before he saw the child’s finger reach the end of a sentence. Robin then blinked up at him, seeming surprised.

Libra realised he had not spoken much to him beyond cordial good-mornings, goodnights, and other small interactions. This was a disruption of the routine, and Robin had immediately picked up on it.

The white-haired boy glanced out of the window, then down at his book again. Obedient as ever, he shut it as expected of him, hopped off the bed, and struggled to carry the heavy tome onto his bedside table. Ri’ze usually took care of that for him.

Libra gently took the book from him and placed it on the table with ease.

“Thank you, Leeba,” he heard Robin say. His voice was small and a little squeaky. It was the first time he’d said something to Libra that wasn’t a returned greeting or well-wish. It was the first time he’d said his name.

He pushed those thoughts aside, instead chuckling lightly at the way his name had been misspoken. “You’re welcome, Robin.”

He moved Robin’s blanket down the bed, letting the boy climb onto the bare mattress and lie down, sleepy and his eyes already drooping.

As he tucked the boy in — ignoring the sweat building at his brow at being this close to anyone — he focused on reigning in his irrational fear and keeping his voice level.

Just leaving Robin to fall asleep by himself again felt wrong.

“Would you like to hear some legends and tales of the past?”

And as Libra spoke of the Divine Dragon, the Hero-King, stories Robin had all heard before, it was the first time he had ever seen the little boy smile.

From outside the room, he heard heeled shoes walk away.

Afterwards, Robin seemed to take that small interaction as permission to be more active around Libra. He started asking questions related to his studies, advice, but also just wanted to talk. Being barely half his size, he always tugged on the man’s pale trousers to get his attention, especially when he was drawing or painting.

As it turned out, Robin was very talkative once he got started, though Libra couldn’t find it in him to mind. However, he was also very tactile, constantly tugging, patting, or reaching for his hand.

That was problematic.

When there was a thunderstorm one night, Libra naturally struggled to sleep. But in the moments between rumbles and cracks of thunder, he heard whimpering from the other bed. Robin was a frequent restless sleeper, and there had been a few instances he’d woken up screaming and crying from night terrors. Libra knew never to question those. He needn’t have. This time, Robin was definitely awake, though. The racket of this storm could rouse the dead.

Taking a deep breath, he got up, lit a lantern, and walked over to Robin. The boy was nothing but a shivering lump beneath his blanket. As he knelt beside the bed, a particularly loud thunderclap elicited a scream from the bed. Robin hastily wriggled out and launched himself at Libra before he could stop him.

Libra screamed, falling back and dropping the lantern. It smashed against the floor and the light went out.

The priest scrabbled for release from Robin’s clingy arms wrapped around his neck — hands on the scar at his nape — and threw the little boy off. He kicked himself back along the floor until he hit his own bed frame hard enough to give himself whiplash. His heart raced, as if trying to escape his rib cage, blood rushed in his ears until he couldn’t hear anything anymore, and his breathing was ragged as images of people’s backs and angry eyes flashed across his vision and pain blossomed upon his skin and his scar burned and someone was hitting him!

Robin was already crying as another thunderclap exploded in the sky — no, the room. The door had burst open with such a force it nearly knocked its hinges from the wall.

Ri’ze had heard them.

Hugging her son tightly to her chest, rocking and shushing him, she glanced to the man gasping in latent terror across the room. Hesitantly, and to his surprise, she held out a hand to him, inviting him to join them.

He froze.

Only when Robin had finally been put to sleep, did he rasp out, “Contact. Touch.”

And looking between him and Robin, she understood. Because Libra knew.

The next day, Libra joined in Ri’ze and Robin’s training with his axe.

Robin was still unsteady with his sword, but certainly better than Libra had been with his axe after the same amount of time.

When the boy decided to focus on his individual training, Ri’ze invited Libra to spar with her. At first, he had thought to mention that he would have the advantage with his axe against her lance, even in training, before he recalled her species.

And so, she stood before him in full, foreign, Chon'sin combat attire. The top part of her outfit seemed almost like a sleeveless bathrobe — a kimono, she'd called it —, wrapped around her with the white material crossing over her ample bosom. A broad crimson belt, the obi, with a striped pelt lined with fur beneath, held it in place at her waist. Her leather vambraces were also lined with the same bright fur. Her breastplate was a black-painted piece of metal accessorised with gold, and came up over her chest from its fixated position on her belt. She had a bit more fur, made into rope-like tendrils, falling from the breastplate, loosely round her upper arms and to the back.

Her legs were covered in tight black leggings, a diamond pattern down the outside exposing bare skin. Above that, she wore a long white skirt, on top of which was an identical black layer, open on her left side and exposing her leg. The black upper layer went under her belt and was tied into a broad bow at her nape. Her boots were steel-toed.

The attire of a Chon'sin basara, wielding lances and magic, was needlessly flashy. But it was stunning to see her in her native robes. She seemed more vitalised, invigorated, and ready to fight him.

He hefted his training axe, and she twirled her pole in response, poising herself with it horizontal to the ground. Every move would be extravagant and effective in equal measure.

As predicted, she wiped the floor with him.

Robin laughed at his expense. So hard he was rolling in the dirt, clutching his stomach. Embarrassment took hold, even though Libra assured himself he had no pride to humiliate.

Still, having never heard Robin laugh before, and seeing the relieved look on Ri’ze’s face, Libra found he didn’t mind.

When Robin’s laughing finally abated — at which point Libra and Ri’ze had long put all their weapons onto the rack — with his mother having been trying to calm him down, the sound of a crowd outside the Cathedral caught their attention.

Robin immediately squeaked and hid behind his mother, who reassured him gently. Libra, meanwhile, headed to the nearest exit from the cathedral grounds.

Peeking out of the archway, he witnessed Exalt Emmeryn parading through the streets. The young exalt was now barely twenty, but she smiled and waved kindly to her people, radiating peace like the sun warmed the earth. Behind her, ten-year-old Prince Chrom and six-year-old Princess Lissa shyly followed, a brown-haired cavalier guarding them from horseback. Their presence was kept reserved, though no one would harm them anymore. The exalt had won her people’s trust at long last.

Libra’s breath hitched when he felt Robin lean against his leg. He trembled until Ri’ze grasped Robin’s hand to tug him away, gently admonishing him. The boy looked ashamed for a moment. She pressed Robin against her legs as she stayed in the shadow of the archway, watching the exalt pass from a careful distance, and keeping Robin close. She was guarded and alert, eyes flitting to and fro as the parade passed, but she concealed it with a meticulously constructed smile whenever Robin looked at her.

The boy spoke to his mother in fast Chon’sin, looking between her and outside the gate.

Once Ri’ze translated that Robin was asking about the exalt, he switched to Ylissean.

“She’s really pretty,” he murmured, in awe, beginning to lean forwards just enough to not strain against his mother.

Libra chuckled, “Yes, she is. She’s also kind and gentle, with a heart that could melt even Regna Ferox’ winter snow.”

“So...” Robin tilted his head in thought, before his face lit up in realisation and he looked up at the blond. “She’s like you!”

Ri’ze giggled quietly, seeming to agree.

Libra felt embarrassed heat rise to his cheeks at such great, otherworldly praise. Robin had no idea what he was talking about. Of course he’d compare their benevolent sovereign to another green-eyed blond he understood as kind.

“Oh no, I couldn’t compare to her.”

Robin knew nothing. Libra’s heart was a glacier.

Still, perhaps this little boy had thawed it a little.

When Robin was ten, he and his mother left for Chon’sin. In that time, the High Priest who had taken them in passed away, and the hierarch took his place as head of the church until his chosen heir was ready. No one objected to this, but Libra doubted the hierarch knew of the Kamishiros' circumstances. The circumstances of those who returned four years later.

Libra noticed quite a few differences, then. For one, Ri’ze had cut her hair until it was chin-length. It had faded to a lighter shade of purple, closer to lavender as the locks lost their vibrant colour with age. Her face and figure could still pass as someone who had not just entered her thirties, but it seemed the stress she placed on herself had been kind on her. She looked weary, and the first thing she did was seek out the hierarch.

As for Robin, he’d grown. He was still small by anyone’s standards, but his young chubbiness had left him, leaving him a rather slim teen. His voice had broken, too. It wasn’t deep, but was actually closer to Libra’s, only with a masculine lilt. The first thing he’d said to Libra was fast Chon’sin, and the blond had reminded him to speak Ylissean. Glowing red with embarrassment, he repeated himself in Ylissean. He showed Libra his keen interest in Sen Takatsuki, his mother’s favourite author, and again, he had to intervene at the macabre descriptions.

Still, Libra was glad to see the boy so expressive. He’d always been rather reserved, much like the newly-fledged war monk, only becoming chatty over subjects truly close to his heart, or his idealised mother. Otherwise, one might have considered him cold, especially in his younger years.

When he returned, he’d become so mercurial, so temperamental, and so over-sensitive that surely seeing a fly swatted would have him bursting into tears. Or worse, become berserk with rage.

Although, using a fly’s death, when Robin and Ri’ze could both be so morally ambiguous, made for a poor example.

Once Robin had found out that Libra had been continuing his artwork, he immediately begged to see it, silver eyes glowing with enthusiasm. Libra chuckled at his excitement. But before entering their room, Robin excused himself and hurried away, saying Libra should get ready to show him those artworks before he returned. Puzzled, Libra fetched the works he was most proud of from his folders and boxes, carefully setting them out on his desk and easel.

When Robin came back, it was carrying a cup and saucer.

“I see your art, you taste my coffee!” he announced, setting it on the bedside table and leaving no room for argument. He then immediately burst out into wonder at the sight of Libra’s works.

“They’re amazing!”

“Not especially, Robin,” Libra chuckled softly, but nonetheless humoured the boy with explanations of the ideas, the inspiration, and the feelings he’d tried to convey with these images, though he didn't find them especially artistic. He'd been told many times over that he had talent, but "lacked artistic soul". In between, he drank the coffee in small sips, listening to Robin trying to painstakingly explain why he found the pictures melancholic.

He had never been a fan of coffee, and certainly not with it black. Robin did apologise for that, having been too excited to ask how Libra took it. Robin’s delectable coffee made him re-evaluate his stance, however, and he gladly drank it.

Once he’d grown bored of the finished artworks, Robin sat on the desk chair and watched Libra draw a new one, chatting to no end and catching up on everything Libra had done, and speaking animatedly of the places he’d visited, the people — ghouls, the war monk had to remind himself every now and then — he’d met, and the wonderful experiences he’d had away, many Chon'sin names pouring from his lips.

This more closely resembled how Libra had always viewed roommates. He hardly got anywhere with his art, but did not have it in him to mind. Not even a little.

Once it had grown dark outside and they’d ignited a lantern for his artwork, Robin said slowly, “I forgot how nice you smell...”

Libra bolted upright when he felt breath at the back of his neck, the stool clattering to the floor.

“I’m sorry!” Robin yelped, voice cracking, as he scrambled back from Libra. “I also forgot about your issue with touch!”

Libra let out a heavy, shuddering sigh, then shakily moved to pick up the stool. He sat back down, and noted the long, dark line now striking up across his picture.

“It’s...not exclusive to you,” he said eventually, hearing the chair creek as Robin also sat back down. “I can handle touching someone for healing, but when anyone touches me so suddenly...”

“I know. It’s okay...” he murmured. Libra turned in time to see him wipe tears from his eyes and struggle not to shed more. The boy crossed his arms on the desk and rested his head on them. “At least, I can still smell you. That’s nice.”

A beat of silence passed between them. As he corrected his sketch, Libra found himself asking, “What do I smell like to you?”

He heard Robin take a deep, relaxed breath. “Paints, old wood, like a spring forest... I can smell blood especially well from your knees.”

“Ah. Scabs from kneeling in prayer.”

He couldn’t believe he was even having this conversation. Maybe it was foolish, but he felt Robin would never hurt him. Not even after four years apart. He was just too much like the little boy he’d seen grow up. And perhaps Libra was too much like the safety Robin had always embodied him as since childhood.

Robin hummed, and seemed to say to no one in particular, “You just smell nice. Kind. Home... Motherly...”

The war monk’s hand stilled. “Motherly?”

When there was no response, Libra looked to the desk.

Robin’s head was pillowed on his folded arms, facing Libra. His eyes were closed and he breathed softly through his mouth, completely relaxed as he dozed sprawled out on the desk.

Despite himself, he chuckled at the sight. If he could be knocked out so suddenly, he must have been more tired than he let on. Libra hadn’t even noticed. It had been an exciting day for Robin, after all.

“Robin, come on,” he called, shaking his shoulder. “You can’t sleep here.”

Robin only purred, shifting and tilting his head away from Libra. He’d fallen into a deeper sleep sooner than expected.

“Robin, wake up,” repeated the war monk more sternly. "You can't sleep here. You'll regret it in the morning."

The boy moaned grumpily, silver eyes opening into slits. He forced himself off the desk and leaned back into the chair. Gradually, he got up, swaying slightly as he made his way over to his bed and collapsed on top of the covers, still in his cotton shirt and trousers.

Libra sighed in mock exasperation, yanking the blanket from underneath Robin — who gave token aid by rolling out of the way —, before letting them settle over his roommate. The albino rolled back onto his side to face Libra, eyes closed again and a content smile on his ghostly face.

“Okaasan... Smells like her perfume, like new books, and the o—“ He was interrupted by a yawn, “Like the ocean...”

Libra had never been to the ocean, he noted as Robin recommenced snoring. He knew from reading and the occasional wandering mercenary passing through that it was supposed to smell nice, or something. It was always described as salty, though.

Libra stood. He hurried out of their room.

He could only pray he was wrong, but he should have realised as soon as Robin let his mother go to see the hierarch at their arrival. He had never done that before without at least a forlorn expression at the separation. Thinking back, Robin had shown only an eagerness to be with Libra at their arrival. This was a natural course of action, having not seen each other for four years, but to completely ignore his mother was beyond unusual behaviour.

Robin had commented on Ri’ze smelling of saltwater.

Hopefully, he thought as he rushed to the altar to catch her at her usual prayer time, that did not mean tears.

Libra swung open the grand doors, and paused as they slowly closed behind him.

The altar made for a beautiful spectacle at night, never failing to rob him of his breath.

The stained glass window at the altar was a depiction of the blue-haired Hero-King Marth, regarded as the first exalt, raising the glowing sacred sword Falchion, preparing for the finishing blow upon the fell dragon beneath him. And behind him, her billowing white gown and emerald hair enveloping him, floated Lady Naga, skin glowing with the moonlight streaming through the glass, her closed eyes and oracular smile charming and blessing all who saw her. A breathtaking sight for only the most faithful to behold, as the ancient goddess who loved and protected mankind bestowed her power of light unto the hero of old.

In the light streaming through the image of the sacred, Ri’ze knelt in prayer before the altar. She trembled, hands clasped together too tightly, and Libra wasted no time hurrying towards her.

Even as he stood before her up on the dais, and she lowered her hands clasped in prayer, head bowed and shoulders still shaking, quiet, unconcealed sobs wracked her body. She said nothing, and raised her hands to cover her face, fingers combing her shortened hair.

"Please, tell me what's happened," Libra begged, gently grasping her slender wrists and lowering them to see her face.

As always she hesitated, red-rimmed plum eyes searching his, calculating his worth. Eventually, she spoke quietly, so her voice would not echo, “I had to tell Robin about his past, and he hasn’t spoken to me since. I knew it would have to be done eventually, but I... It just... This leaves me wondering if my prayers are being heard, when all I’ve ever done is give him trouble.”

"I am certain your prayers are being heard, Ri'ze," he answered without a second thought. "He has a good heart. By Naga's grace, his soul is too pure to remain so tormented."

Her lip trembled, and she frantically shook her head. "T-then why? Why won't the divine dragon guide me? Why am I so helpless against this?!"

Her outburst took Libra by surprise. Ri'ze had always been a very calm woman, forever elegant in her actions. Whenever Robin cried, she held back her tears with a tenacity Libra strongly admired her for. He had never seen her be so vocal about her distress. It was disquieting. What could be so horrific to make Robin shut himself away from her?

"...I'm afraid I cannot tell you which decision is right, and which is wrong," he said carefully. "You and I both know that if we could do something, we would. Please, forgive me. As a man of the cloth, I truly wish I could offer you guidance and wisdom, but for such a grave issue, as it so seems..."

"No, Libra," she retorted, almost scoldingly at his apologetic tone. "It is nearly impossible. To work and pray is all we can do..."

"Then, you should try to convince Robin to reach out to Lady Naga. Perhaps then a difference shall be made."

She laughed. A crazed, despaired sound as tears streaked down her cheeks. “He would never.”

* * *

The next evening was the earliest Libra could next see Robin, after a long day of farm work, sparring, healing, and praying. Robin was reading tactical book at the desk, but immediately shifted over to his bed when Libra entered — a habit from back when the desk chair had been forbidden territory — never once removing his gaze from the pages. The war monk groaned heavily in relief as he removed his armour and excessive clerical robes, and stretched his arms above his head.

"Your hair's so long, now," Robin commented, still not lifting his gaze. Mayhap he could hear the strands brushing against his back, just below his shoulder blades. Ri'ze had found it difficult to explain the sensory excellence she'd always known, and so had not been able to describe the extent of a ghoul's hearing. She had, however, acknowledged Robin's capabilities as far greater than hers.

"You haven't even looked at me since last night," he rebuked, a little too sharply. It prompted Robin to finally do so once he'd finished the current paragraph.

"What's wrong?"

"You shouldn't have such a rift between you and your mother," Libra said simply, not veiling a single aspect. A direct approach would be more suitable, he decided, and walked over to perch on the edge of Robin's bed, beside him. "You shouldn't ignore her so, even if she has committed great sins. And if not, I'm sure you could pray to Lady Naga, who wouldn't have you suffer like this. You've been through enough."

Robin's shoulders slumped guiltily with a sigh. He carefully closed the book and set it on his bedside table. He spoke with his head low, "I have spoken to Okaasan about it today. I've never sought the divine dragon for guidance, and I never could."

Because he was a Spawn of Grima? "Because you feel unworthy?"

"No..." he whispered shakily. The war monk shuffled closer, so his scent filled Robin's senses. After a minute of silence, during which Robin gratefully absorbed his aroma and gathered himself, he said firmly, "Libra, I wish to confess to you. The High Priest already knows of this, he has — did — since my mother first brought us here."

Libra leaned back at the strange request, but nodded kindly. "Of course. I shall be Lady Naga's ears to you—"

"No. Don't say that, Libra." Robin met his gaze, silver orbs gleaming intensely. "I want this to be a confession, but only if you can carry the burden of KNOWING."

So that was it. It went unsaid, but Libra understood. He was Robin's first and only human friend, and the boy wanted to ensure that, even if he believed he could trust the man, Libra was bound not only by morality, but by duty, to not tell a soul of what Robin was about to say. Even though he had been entrusted with the knowledge of ghouls, including those in Chon'sin. Surely the boy would know that Libra could carry a life of heavy burdens and understand despair — he had once seen it reflected in mirrors —, so why the extra precaution?

"How much of a burden is it?" he dared ask.

(This was his third mistake.)

Libra could not sleep that night. Instead he spent time watching over Robin as he slept, tossing and turning and his brow furrowed as he battled unpleasant visions and nightmares. After everything he had struggled to say, the boy could have done nothing but cry himself to sleep.

Libra shivered. Ri'ze could not have been more right. No exorcism could free Robin of his demons. No prayers could ever hope to cleanse his soul. He had been irrevocably tainted from birth. There was no emancipation. Libra almost wished he hadn’t heard any of it. He knew everything, but could do nothing. His lips were sealed and his hands were tied by his duty, against his will. Yet what could he have hoped to do? What could he have hoped to change? He was helpless. He could only watch with regret.

He finally understood everything about Robin, and the despair Ri'ze kept thinly veiled behind small smiles and a sharp, silver tongue. Their lives were already miserable because of their mere existence as ghouls, but Robin's future was far bleaker — far more hopeless — than Libra could have ever imagined.

And yet, they clung to the hope that fate could be changed. And Libra, too, believed it had to be so.

For them to face this, yet still stand tall...

"You are the strongest person I could ever hope to meet," Libra whispered, voice shaking and fat, heavy drops of brine hitting his lap.

That night, Libra prayed more desperately than he had in a long time, and shed even more tears for what he knew could never change. Because he understood. Because he knew.

Because never had he known pain as grievous as theirs.

* * *

All too soon, when ice filigreed the windows, came the day Ri’ze and Robin had to leave the Cathedral indefinitely. The High Priest who had accepted them, knowing what Libra knew, was gone. The hierarch was far less tolerant. Robin’s education was as good as complete. There was no more argument for them to say, in the his eyes. And the family of two could never reveal why they were there to anyone. Nor could Libra.

Ri’ze explained they had left Chon’sin because one of the many hunting them had come too close for comfort. And at that moment, she believed the Grimleal suspected their presence in Ylisstol. Their safety could only be guaranteed with anonymity. It seemed those who had always resented them were no longer so tight-lipped beneath the hierarch’s order.

They had to leave, with little hope of ever returning. The Cathedral of Naga, the people whom they had placed their faith in, was abandoning them. They were once again forsaken. There was nothing more they could have done.

Only Libra came to see them off.

Ri’ze stood ready in full armour, a lance with a curved silver head she called a Chon’sin naginata strapped across her back, most of her armour, scrolls and tomes hidden beneath her travel cloak. After much debate, she had given Robin her old Grimleal cloak, which he tearfully clung to and took in the scent of as she wrapped another travel cloak around him to conceal it. They then both picked up a pack each. These did not nearly contain all their possessions. Libra had sworn to them he would keep the rest in his room, and would make sure they stayed safe.

“I will do all that I can to ensure these doors are always open to you, should you once again require shelter,” Libra said solemnly, striving to keep tears at bay.

Slowly, Robin, in the little height his fifteen years gave him, approached him. Robin, who had broken through his shell, who had embraced Libra despite his flaws, who had thawed his frozen heart, who had entrusted him with the knowledge of his horrific past. Robin, who Libra adored despite his emotional state, despite his past, despite all his flaws. Who, despite how painful it was, Libra considered to be his one and only friend.

The boy trembled before him, tearful at the prospect of leaving his childhood friend's side, the side of one of the few good constants in his life.

“You’ve always been so kind to me,” he managed to whisper. “A friend, a parent... My best friend, my father, and my brother...”

Libra strived to keep his lip from trembling, but he was growing increasingly heartbroken at this unforgivable turn of events.

“There’s no need to talk like that,” he forced out, voice trembling. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

Robin hung his head, still an arm’s length away from the person he considered family. For once, it was the distance which felt stifling. If only the gods would show mercy.

“I really missed you, in Chon’sin. I’m really going to miss you now... I... I-I...!”

Robin rushed into him, wrapping his arms around Libra’s chest and knocking the wind out of him. The embrace was crushing, unbridled strength unrestrainedly trying to express his relentless flood of emotions in one single action. It was choking, and left him breathless, but there was no pain, only the feeling of tears drenching him. No images haunted his mind other than that of Robin burying his face in his white-clad chest, right over his aching heart.

“I love you, Libra!” he cried.

His knees buckled. The tears broke free. Not of fear — it was still present, writhing within him, yet he couldn’t feel it — but in sorrow at Robin leaving his side.

Before he knew it, his arms wound themselves around the little boy, and Libra clutched him to his chest as though for dear life, as though letting go of this moment would shatter them, as though nothing existed but the two forsaken children.

Libra had always feared another’s touch. Robin had always feared everything. The agony of abuse and neglect they shared had connected them before they’d even known it.

Libra feared another’s touch, but Robin had always been touching him. Only his little brother could touch him.

“I love you too, Robin...”

* * *

Two years later, one spring afternoon, when Libra was praying at the altar, the great doors burst open.

Having just finished, Libra turned in preparation to see who wished to speak with him, but his serene expression quickly fell.

Ri’ze, in a travel cloak, pale and sweating, ran towards him, panting despite her heightened ghoul stamina. When she’d finally closed the gaping distance from the entrance to the altar, she came to a sudden stop before him, glasses askew and hair unkempt.

“Robin’s disappeared! He went to Southtown to buy us books early and I lost his scent. I’ve searched all over and he’s supposed to come here when separated from me, but I—“

“Ri’ze, please, calm yourself!” Libra interrupted her unintelligibly fast speech, arms raised but not touching her in a gesture meant to placate.

He hadn't heard from either of them in two years, and he hadn't seen Robin. His gut lurched at the mere thought of him lost. His heart felt gripped by the icy fingers of his demons. His fear was just as strong as Ri'ze's, hers only empowered by the hopelessness her hard search had rewarded her.

"We must have faith. I'm sure he'll return here as soon as he can, and I will search as much as I'm able."

She sniffled, vainly wiping the tears from her reddened cheeks. "Of course, but I worry — he's wearing that coat."

The Grimleal coat. The gods knew what had happened to him. Libra struggled not to choke on the lump in his throat.

“You know, Libra..." she started shakily. "When we first met, I had run from the square to escape the Ylissean guard. Someone had thrown a stone at the young exalt, and, as the only one in Grimleal robes, I had naturally become the scapegoat. I would never have thrown that stone. Not when, if peace had a face, it would be Her Grace’s. Not when peace is exactly what Robin needs, but cannot receive.” She shook her head sorrowfully, taking a couple of careful steps past Libra, until she could see the altar to Lady Naga unimpeded. “I will never escape my sins. I will never be able to atone. I was a gluttonous harlot. I was a terrible mother. I always will be. But, Libra," she fixated him with her intense purple eyes, as they changed to black and red kakugan, "you know who we are. You know our story. You can rewrite the summary. Please, if you find Robin, take him under your wing. Protect him... I beg of you..."

He shook his head vehemently. "Please, you needn’t beg me! I will do all that is in my power, Ri’ze. I will do all I can to find him and bring him to safety from here. I shall pray day and night for both your safety."

She blinked away her tears and the blood-eyes. "For you, too, Libra."

From one forsaken to another.

* * *

Ri'ze left post-haste for Plegia, telling him she would prioritise the south in her search, before heading northwards to Regna Ferox, and crossing over the Great Sea to Valm. With the multiple sources of potential culprits, it was only right she be thorough.

When it was announced war had been declared, Libra, like many others, had prayed for their loved ones’ sake, prayed they would stay safe, no matter how fleeting that hope may have been. He prayed Robin and Ri’ze were safe, wherever they were.

Not a day after, when he caught wind of rumours surrounding the Shepherds’ new tactician, and his apparent prowess, dread settled in his stomach like the darkness he could never purge. He’d rushed to find out where that tactician was, and had managed to rope himself into getting into the castle and treating that tactician just once.

He begged the powers that be for it to not be Robin.

Yet, as he saw that coat thrown across the chair beside the bed, and then the white hair, he remembered to fear the gods.

Asleep, head tilted away from the entrance, torso bandaged. A kagune had done this, he read on the medical notes on the chair. They suspected the ghoul Twister, rate S. The description of events was grotesque, and only heightened Libra's fear.

'All organs save vitals heavily lacerated,' it read. Did that include the kakuhou?

Wasting no time, Libra used a Mend staff to assess the extent of internal injuries. His mana flowed through the body, its warmth slowly rousing Robin and awakening further dread in Libra.

The kakuhou had been treated until stable. The Rc could not quite flow through it, but someone had tampered with it.

He retracted his mind from the staff's gemstone, blinking back into the physical world to see Robin waking up.

He smiled, relief completely dispelling his fear. "Hello, Robin. How have you been these past couple of years?"

The albino observed him strangely. "Uh...I, um..."

He frowned. "Pardon?"

He was about to ask what had happened to separate him from his mother, when the boy looked away and muttered awkwardly, "W-who are you? I believe Emmeryn was supposed to treat me...?"

...What? What had happened? Why was Robin pretending not to know him? Was this some sort of joke? The boy was pointedly looking away from him. Was there some sort of threat? Was someone coming? Did he not want anyone to know his relationship with the war monk?

Something was going on, and Robin was clearly telling Libra to go, for whatever reason. So, puzzled and perplexed, but not forcing anything which might jeopardise whatever situation Robin had got himself into, he swiftly left. Robin knew where to find him, after all. They were both in Ylisstol.

And Ri'ze would still be in Plegia at the time. Everything was alright, for the moment. Still, this was curious, and pressed against his mind.

As soon as he shut the grand doors to the medical wing, he sensed the mana which had touched Robin's kagune sac.

When he turned, the golden hair, jade eyes, and dove-like air was unmistakably that of Exalt Emmeryn.

She smiled kindly to him, if a little confused at his presence, and was carrying a book with the characters Libra recognised as the name of the Kamishiros’ favourite author, Sen Takatsuki.

Libra took a deep bow before her. "Your Grace, Robin is awake, and I've treated his injuries for the day."

He doubted news of his arrival had travelled far from the gatekeepers, and seemed to be correct as the confusion on the exalt’s face abated.

"Thank you very much," replied Her Grace, reaching for the door.

If she was the one treating him, perhaps now would be the best time to ask.

"I attempted to make small talk with him, and asked about how he had been these last couple of years, but he didn't give me a straight answer.” Which made no sense to him. He still couldn’t understand what was going on. But before the exalt — especially before the exalt — it would be best to be cautious if he wanted to find out why his friend had acted so strangely, and not reveal his relation with him. He phrased it so she would hopefully believe he had inquired on Robin's medical history. “He tried to change the subject, instead. Would you happen to know what that could be related to, Your Grace?"

Her Grace lowered her gaze remorsefully. Clutching the Takatsuki book beneath her robes, she replied, "He has amnesia, I’m afraid. My brother found him in a field just east of Southtown. He has remembered nothing but his name and the ways of war and combat since."

There was no concealing the horrible, overwhelming pain those few sentences brought him, as Libra felt his heart break. His best friend — his brother — lost. Drifting. Wandering. Gone.

In a mind which did not include him.

"...I suggest you keep a close eye on his approach to this problem, Your Grace," he managed to say calmly. "As I said, he attempted to dodge the subject. I let him, but perhaps it would be wise that you do not."

Exalt Emmeryn nodded. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

He bowed. "By your leave, Your Grace.”

As soon as he rounded a corner, his knees buckled. He choked and sobbed, and rested his forehead against the cold marble flooring. He had never been one for tears. He’d only cried when his parents had declared they hated him, when he’d been cast aside, when he’d had to say goodbye to Robin.

Each time, some part of him, an ugly, bitter darkness he buried deep, deep down, snarled conceitedly.

_The forsaken has become the forsaker_ , it whispered.

Libra beat that darkness down with prayers of contrition. People’s backs flashed before his eyes.

None were coated in black and amaranth.

* * *

When the news of the hierarch’s betrayal reached the Cathedral of Naga, the new High Priest ordered the finest war clergy and sages march to protect Exalt Emmeryn in the castle.

They fell during the attack on Ylisstol. And with refugee Ylisseans streaming into the cathedral and abbey for protection, the rest could only watch in horror as their sovereign was taken.

The Shepherds and Ylissean clergy would answer the Mad King’s announcement of her execution.

And Libra would follow.

* * *

“Robin!” Libra called up the battlefield.

His friend finished off his spell and checked for any other opponents, before facing Libra.

He looked so strong. He would forever be a small person, but his prowess with the sword and magic set him above all others. It was overwhelming to have Robin inspect him so, with an unknowing look in his eyes.

“Prince Chrom requested my aid. Where will you have me?” Libra forced out, and scanned the battlefield to avoid meeting that unrecognising gaze.

He heard Robin command Princess Lissa away from the front, then turn to face him again. “Your name? Can you handle the front?”

Robin’s voice was firm and carried easily across the din of battle. Libra had to quickly keep himself from grimacing at being asked his name. Such a simple, painful question.

“My name is Libra, and I can!”

And when Gangrel offered his ultimatum, Robin followed his mother’s moral principles. If they could be called that.

"I know it's hard to admit, Chrom, but it's the only choice. Compared to the lives of thousands, one person, any one person, is—"

"DON'T! Just... don't say it."

And when Robin couldn’t bring himself to run, Libra grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away from the carnage.

If only he could offer comfort, but Robin didn’t know him anymore.

Even so, he touched his friend. He kept his friend moving, even if it was forceful and unrecognised.

* * *

“Enough! Stop now!” Libra screamed at Prince Chrom, adjusting his grip on his axe and slamming the second-born noble into the mud.

If it came to it, Libra would not hesitate to attack his sovereign to protect Robin — his pained, fearful, crying little brother —, however vain that might be.

He would not let knowing Robin be a mistake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment you realise how much I’ve been tormenting Libra all this time. ELEVEN THOUSAND WORDS OF IT! Emotionally compromised, as promised, my dear readers.
> 
> There is more plot relevance to this than me just adoring him. (It’s me, after all. He’ll be hurt. Badly.) His name is rather fitting: the zodiac scales. I doubt I've done his writing justice with this, as I find he is one of the most complex characters in Awakening. I’m assuming his “darkness” is the bitter part of him remaining after his neglectful childhood. The fact that he’s become a priest to purge it then is...pretty damn messed up. What's up with me?!
> 
> On another note, seeking asylum in churches still works to this day. Not even the police are allowed to enter. (Though I heard this from a stubborn, aged teacher, so take that last detail with a grain of salt.) I’m just wondering why no one seems to have thought of this headcanon. I’ve seen living alone, nomadic, or with a noble, but never church asylum for Robin and his mother (who I've decided is a Basara class here, formerly diviner). If anyone knows of fics involving backstory, please let me know!
> 
> This chapter was written pretty much from scratch. There was only a small window of insight in the original version, and Libra only met Robin once. The Kamishiros did not return for asylum.
> 
> Still, worth the wait for you. And it wasn't such a long wait either. I was pretty motivated by your messages of emotional distress. o(｀ω´ )o
> 
> So, next chapter (and I’m never promising any deadlines), MORE HEARTACHE!


	21. Renewal

All was silent in the Feroxi throne room, those within the dark stone walls lit only by torches, as snow fell outside and blocked the sun. Among the mourning Shepherds and Feroxi standing around the violet carpet, none, not even their leaders, stood upon the dais. No one was ready to be led then, when all that could be heard was whispers of comfort, the wind battling the glass shields, and Lissa’s sobs.

All their efforts had come to naught.

Emmeryn was dead. Peace would be hard-won in her vast wake.

“Emm... Oh, Emm...” Lissa hiccupped, Maribelle rubbing her shoulders comfortingly, Lon’qu also standing more closely than usual.

Though Robin couldn’t tell his expression, with his vision swimming as he choked back whatever noises of sorrow he could. He doubted he was successful. He pulled the cowl of his beloved, sullied coat over his eyes.

"I should have died before allowing the exalt to be captured,” Frederick murmured into the quiet. “I have failed as a knight..."

Cordelia looked at him from her half-embrace with Sumia then, nodding slowly in agreement.

Khan Flavia sighed heavily. "So, what now, oaf?"

The West-Khan shot her a look with his one eye. "Don't look to me — I'm not in charge!"

"Ugh... I picked a fine time to regain the full throne...” She swore harshly, before announcing to the Shepherds, “I call for a strategy meeting. Come on, Chrom, Robin! The rest of you get some rest. Gods know we need it."

It took a few calls from Frederick for Chrom to hear, and Robin followed the royalty and retainer silently, ignoring the sounds of the other Shepherds filing out behind them.

Arriving in the war room, they were greeted with the walls plastered with maps and Emblems of Regna Ferox and the Halidom of Ylisse. But their attention was garnered by the maps of Plegia spread across the long table. Reminders of plans made and failed.

"Any idea on Gangrel's next move, Robin?" Khan Basilio grumbled, leaning on the table with his knuckles.

The answer came to him relatively simply, having debated it since regaining consciousness under Libra’s attentive and methodical care. “He’s just waiting. He knows we'll come to avenge her, so he probably won't attack Ylisse unless we take too long to do so."

"So, we do what he expects or place the halidom in harm's way,” Frederick summarised. He shook his head slowly. “By the gods.”

"Still, despite having the home field and a complete army, I think we stand a chance,” Robin continued his train of thought. “Gangrel has no real way of knowing our exact number, and he's running the risk of insubordination."

"Insubordination? How?"

"Those who witnessed the execution were reluctant to fight in the last battle. With all of Plegia starving and disfavoured by their own king, it probably won't be long before he loses control. Insurgence would be a better word.”

And hopefully, considered with a rather blithe optimism, Ka’nae's allegiance to Robin ran deeper than he let on.

"The hell they care, those—"

Robin’s shin met his stomach, forcing the prince to cry out and double over, in the perfect position for an uppercut, which straightened him, before Robin kicked him again in the chest and onto the floor.

"I CARE!!" he screeched, breath ragged with anger. "I CARE!!"

"I'm not talking about you, Robin!" Chrom yelled back, spitting out blood and wiping it from his lips. "I'm talking about those sons of bitches!"

Robin's breath hitched, his eyes white with rage, teeth gritted as he punched Chrom in the face again, straddling him and pushing the prince down by the shoulders, screaming himself hoarse, "I'M PLEGIAN! GRIMLEAL!! YOU KEEP SAYING THAT! EVERYBODY THINKS THAT! YOU CAN'T DENY IT NOW, YOU GODS DAMNED—!"

Arms hooked themselves under his shoulder, and Frederick easily hoisted him off his lord by his armpits. Robin flailed pathetically against the man’s grip. His throat and stomach burned, his left eye itched for the kakugan, and his kagune writhed in his sac, eager for slaughter in his excitement.

He looked into Chrom’s eyes — pain, sorrow, betrayal — and let himself fall limp.

"I know i-it's my f-fault she's gone..." he whined. "I know I told you to sacrifice her instead of the Emblem..." He sniffled, gasping for breath, and looked at Chrom with tears running down his red-blotched face. "But I-I don't want her dead! Don't say that I do!"

They all stared at him in shock — less surprised from the khans, horrified from Chrom —, and Frederick's grip on him slackened. Seizing the opportunity, Robin writhed out of the great knight's hold, collapsing to the floor and crying out in the agony radiating from his injury. Before Chrom could scramble to him, he stumbled up, wobbly, and fled from the room like a lamb from wolves.

"Robin, wait!"

He ignored Chrom's voice, trying to get his blood rushing in his ears, for the pain to block out the sounds. He ran through the hallways, unsteady and gasping as his long wound protested despite Libra's best attempts at fixing it, with Lissa unable to work and Maribelle comforting her. When he finally reached his temporary room, an isolated part of the medical wing, he pressed the door shut behind him with his back, rattling its hinges.

Gradually, he let himself slide down the wood until he hit the cold stone floor, wrapped his arms around his knees, and cried.

He had no idea how long he sat there, only that his eyes stung as tears continued to flow. He stood with the door as support, and swayed numbly. His throat hurt from sobs and hiccups. His body ached from shaking and his injury.

None of this was supposed to happen.

He grabbed his hair and pulled. He screamed at the very real pain. Then agony as his wound punished him for moving his arms up. His stomach was empty. His kakuhou, though unharmed, was drained of Rc cells. His wound had not healed beyond Libra's efforts. It hadn't regenerated. He let himself fall onto the only bed in the small room, closed his eyes tightly, then snapped them open as widely as he could. It did not snap him out of this nightmare. Him lying there, at the mercy of his injury, scolding his foolishness and wallowing in his failure was all terribly, horribly real.

Emmeryn was gone. The person he had trusted most was gone. His chest felt empty, yet filled with anguish that did not stem from his injury. He would never see her lips curve into a gentle smile again, never would her jade green eyes gleam at him. She would never smooth his hair down again, never embrace him. He would never feel her soft touch on his cheeks again. He rested the back of his hand on his forehead, where his skin had touched her Brand of the Exalt the last time they had spoken. He could still feel that delicate, soothing touch that left a strange feeling in him. How she had comforted him had left him feeling so much better afterwards, in ways he could never hope to describe, but she would never be there for him again.

All he had left was an empty void, filled with guilt, in his chest, and it would not go away. Tears continuously leaked from his eyes. He felt like wailing, screaming, crying himself hoarse, but he could not comprehend why. He had killed people before, more than he could count, but he had never felt this way. He had seen people die right before his eyes, and yet never had he sensed such a feeling within him. Why was he so sad? No, he had felt sadness before. This was something far beyond that. At least he recognised the remorse he felt.

If he had just considered the appearance of the Risen, everything could have been drastically different. He had been the only one with the power to save her, making him responsible for her death. If only he had thought of a better strategy. If only he had had the courage to run and save her himself. If only he had had the strength to fend off other ghouls if he had.

If only he had eaten. He would have had the strength to fight! He could have leapt to her perch, protected her with his kagune, and run before anyone would have known what had happened. His wound would have healed, Chrom would not have hated him in the first place, and Emmeryn would be alive.

He wrapped his arms around his body, hugging himself, rocking slightly, trembling. Nothing had gone his way. The only option had been to forsake her. She'd known that.

Absentmindedly, he realised this room had been provided for the treatment of his wound. A healer could enter at any moment.

Giddily, he realised he didn't care. In fact, that would be a boon. They would be serving themselves on a silver platter. The aroma of all the humans in the castle flooded his senses, suppressed thoughts climbing over the collapsed mental wall, sickening pleasure begging for release, his lower back and left eye incinerating his nerves. He felt a grin twitch at his tear-stained face, a giggle escaping him as a human scent approached.

He sat up, back to the door as it creaked open, and shut. "Robin, I've come on Prince Chrom's behalf," said the feminine voice of a male aroma. Gods...! How interestingly delectable this would be! "I know you don't want to hear a lecture, but I have someth—"

"You know..." Robin slurred through his broad smile, swaying as he stood from the bed and steadied himself on the frame. "I'm awfully hungry right now. You wouldn't mind offering me some food..."

He tilted his head back, grinning deliriously at the ever so innocent, oblivious war monk, single kakugan manifested.

"Like that body of yours?!" he laughed highly.

He spun around, stepped on the bed for better height, and bit into the white-robed shoulder. Blood burst from the human's fragile body. Robin moaned hungrily as relief to his horrible ache washed over him, pleasure drowning him to the point where being slammed down onto the floor could not wake him from this wonderful mania. He dug his teeth deeper, digging his fingers into his meal's back, moving the cloth out of the way with his tongue and licking at the blood leaking from the skin punctured by his teeth. He did not yet have the strength to bite deep enough to reach the collarbone through the tense meat, but the blood was so thick and succulent and the desire and hunger so overwhelming he would be damned if he didn't fucking bite this off!

His prey had stood and thrown itself on top of him, grappling at the half-ghoul's face to try and unclamp his jaw, slipping on his saliva. The meat screamed at him, saying his name. Shut up! He wouldn't have wanted to be interrupted in Robin’s position, now would he?

An armoured foot met his wound. Robin screamed, grasp loosening long enough for his victim to scramble away.

Growling in frustration, Robin followed the scent, his hunger, and rolled over onto all fours, ignoring his wound igniting and his struggle to breathe, numbed with the thrill of the hunt and adrenaline pumping through him. Red-tinted saliva dribbled down him and rapacious groans and curses escaped him, nigh unintelligible screams about his hunger.

He saw the blond war monk scramble away from him. Gods, it was intoxicating! He couldn't let the meal escape! No one would have wanted that, would they?!

He suddenly laughed, swaying drunkenly as he stood and walked over to the prey nearing the door, but helpfully not opening it.

"Come on, friends help each other!" he giggled as he vaguely remembered the meat having mentioned that. "I'm hungry! So, let me eat you!"

The stink of a healing elixir permeated the air, and the prey launched itself at him. Robin snapped his jaw into the meat, beautiful, wonderful, delicious meat! And this time, he tore a mouthful off. He swallowed.

The flavour sent a thrilling pulsation through his body, flooding his being as it rushed down his throat, his stomach, through his blood and veins and set an indescribably wonderful tingling buzz off in his kakuhou. He bit down into the arm, again, again, again, tearing flesh and blood from it, spilling it down his front, burying his face in the cold muscly sinews of the limb, and relishing the inebriation. He tried to tear apart the steel vambrace in his way as his strength returned, but could only bend it at most. He growled as he devoured the meat, gnawing the morsels off the bone and craving more, _more more more!_

All too soon, the arm was reduced to bone and bloodied clothing as Robin licked it clean, running his tongue up the radius, the humerus, coming to the joint and meeting air.

Where was it? Where was more?! He whined in frustration, and licked his lips, less hungry than before but far from appeased.

When he looked up to meet kind, patient, understanding jade eyes, he shrieked, scrambling back.

"E—?!" No.

"Have you come to your senses?" Libra asked, only a slight amount of fear in his so good scent, as he poured another dose of elixir over his wounded, bloodstained shoulder. His arm was still attached.

Robin blinked, glancing down. A smidgeon of non-discoloured material showed it was navy blue. He looked up again. Libra's robes were white. He looked down again at the arm. The severed arm.

"...Huh?"

A relieved sigh, serene and calm, could be heard from the war monk. "It seems so. Good."

Robin pinched the upper half of his fringe, running his finger and thumb down the strands and letting the blood drip onto his exposed tongue.

"Not enough..." he whined, sitting back on his haunches as the buzz began to fade. He wasn't on the brink, anymore, but the deprivation still left him feeling even hollower than before.

"Forgive me. That was all I could smuggle," Libra replied.

In his mildly distracted and sluggish state, it took Robin a moment to process the things around him. When the words strung themselves together in his mind and fell into a comprehensible meaning, his head snapped up in horror.

“You know!”

Yet there was no more fear in his expression or scent. He was human, but he wasn't afraid? Robin had attacked him in a starved mania, but the man made no move to kill him? He was an Ylissean clergyman, yet he was perfectly happy sitting on the end of Robin's bed, apologising for not having smuggled enough human flesh?

Robin stood shakily, eying him suspiciously as he took off his coat, undid his belts, and untucked his shirt, and realisation dawned on Libra, eyes widening in fear — finally something Robin could make sense of.

He released a single rinkaku tentacle and poised the scaled tendril ready to pierce between the war monk's eyes. He slowly crept closer, claw swaying but its tip not moving from its focused position.

“Your kagune...” Libra whispered, breathless either from the still too-small amount of fear or — dare he think it — awe. When Robin finally stood before the tall man, with the taste of his blood recalled by the stink of his injury the elixir did not quite overpower, he looked Robin in the eye. Firm, but not angry. “The one part of you I’ve never seen.”

No fear someone in Libra's position should have felt could match what gripped Robin then. He reeled, kagune spasming in his distress, whipping about like an upset cat's tail. He took quick, frightened breaths at the revelation of this stranger knowing what he was. And for how long? Had he told the others? Were they waiting outside that very door, waiting to kill him? Or had he contacted the Commission of Counter Ghoul for his extermination? Or had the meat he'd just eaten been poisoned and he was already dying?!

He pressed himself against the wall, as far away from his intended prey as possible, kagune curling around him protectively. But a rinkaku, however powerful, was flimsy, and would do little to shield him! Sweat ran down his brow, his complexion no doubt greyed. His senses overwhelmed him. He could smell the blood of the unfortunate Plegian's arm, Libra's, the stench of potions, the smell of everyone else in the castle. He could taste blood on his tongue. He could hear the winds outside, rattling the windows. He could hear each strong, determined beat of that man's living heart.

“Who are you?” he whimpered, releasing another tentacle.

The war monk's brow creased, and he took a tentative step towards Robin, arms raised in a manner meant to be placating. He stopped when Robin flexed his kagune threateningly despite his terror.

“I am Libra, but a simple war monk from the Cathedral of Naga in Ylisstol," he said carefully, softly. "And you are Robin, the only child of Ri’ze Kamishiro, a fabled one-eyed ghoul, and who I consider my little brother.”

“Little...brother?” Robin whispered, at a loss for anything else.

Libra took a few tentative steps forward, gently brushed the deadly claw aside, and, hushing Robin throughout, wrapped his arms around the boy's shoulders, pressing the half-ghoul's face into his chest. His heart rate had increased, and a pointed note of fear permeated the air, but the war monk was steadfastly ignoring it, working against it, in fact, by controlling his breathing.

He truly smelled as nice as he was a person, Robin thought as he sniffed. The hunger still nibbling at him was probably of some influence in that thought, but it was nonetheless true without.

"I wasn't summoned to Ylisstol Castle to help treat your injuries," Libra cooed, a voice which made him sound...motherly? "I came as soon as word reached my ears of your location, to see you again and to support you, as was your mother's request. Learning of your memory loss was...devastating... I refused to believe it, but..."

That was right. Now that he thought about it, Robin had met Libra before in his existing memory.

"You're... You know me?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You raised me?"

"Yes. Together with your mother. She's searching for you as we speak. I'm so glad you're alright!" Libra practically cried in relief.

Robin had tried to devour who he'd once considered his big brother.

"I don't remember!" he screamed. Libra choked.

Those thoughts sent him into another round of tears.

"I-I'm a monster! You shouldn't h-hold me!"

Libra practically smothered him in a loving embrace. "No. I don't see a monster. I see a boy grieving and crying over what isn't his fault. Monsters don't cry."

"Y-you can't...trust me..." he sobbed, struggling against Libra's grip. "Ch-Chrom's right... It is my fault...E-...Emm—"

"What happened back there was not your fault."

"I COULD HAVE SAVED HER!" Robin shouted him down. He stilled, his face morphing from anger back to regret, tearing up once more. "If...If I had just eaten, I would have been strong enough... If only I was braver, I could have..."

Libra pulled him back into an even tighter hug, holding his head and running his fingers underneath the white hair, gently silencing the boy's whimpering. "It's alright to be afraid. Fear is part of every living creature. Without it, a man would recklessly attack a bear, a rabbit would not run from a fox, a bird would not fly from a cat. Without fear, no matter how irrational, life could not exist. And the fact that you don't want to eat... Well, that makes you human."

The boy sniffled, wet silver eyes blinking up at him. "Human...?"

"Everyone fears death, Robin," Libra said with such powerful conviction, it almost relaxed him.

"But I... If I had thought of a better strategy, nobody would've died! I didn't even consider the appearance of the Risen!" he yelled back, Libra flinching. His aggression faded to sadness again. "I'm not only a failure as a friend, but as a tactician, as well..."

"Robin, look at me!" Libra commanded, in a tone that held Robin as though in some kind of trance. He tilted his head up from its placement on the man's broad chest, and listened obediently. "Though you don't remember it, you have proven to me that you are the strongest, bravest person in the world, and the only person to have ever been my friend. I'll say it a thousand, a million times if I have to: What happened back there was NOT your fault. Anything but yours!"

"I told Chrom to sacrifice her!"

Libra paused at that, and released a heavy sigh. "Her Grace chose to sacrifice herself. I don't think your input made a difference in the end."

‘Don't give it up,’ Emmeryn had whispered to him. It had been her choice, her will. She had taken the only logical step in Gangrel's ultimatum. She was but one person. The Fire Emblem represented countless people. She had taken the weight of the decision upon her own shoulder, and had fallen on her own terms.

"You're right," Robin murmured, sniffing harshly.

Libra lowered his head to rest his cheek against Robin's hair. He only then noticed the war monk was rocking them from side to side soothingly. Despite him being a complete stranger to Robin, he could appreciate the action, and tightened his grip around the tall man. He felt a smile against his head.

"Can you find it in you to forgive Prince Chrom? I understand he was extremely insensitive and hurtful, but he is wracked with grief much like the rest of us..."

Slowly, Robin felt himself nod.

Libra hummed affectionately. "Well, let's get you cleaned up."

* * *

Libra watched Robin disappear down the dark halls of Castle Ferox, the both of them now cleaned up and having changed into fresh robes. He clutched the remnants of the severed arm, wrapped in the cloth and paper he'd concealed it in, and would soon dispose of it. There had been two aspects of Robin he had never seen — how he ate, and his kagune. His claw was just as Ri'ze had described hers. After seeing it firsthand, and having watched Robin eat, he could conclude not a single part of the albino was a mystery to him. Not even the birth he had not witnessed.

He was not afraid. He could never fear Robin. He could only fear for him.

He looked up at the sound of armoured footsteps, as the great knight, the prince's retainer and guard, approached him from the same direction Robin had run off in. They both gave a respectful bow to each other, before Frederick the Wary spoke, "Friar Libra, was it? I trust your talk with Robin went well. I must say, I'm impressed, considering how upset he was. How on earth did you get him to come around so soon?"

Libra had a correction for the misconception of his gender prepared, and stumbled over his words when he realised it was unnecessary. "It was no problem, truly. As it stands right now, I know more about him than he does himself."

The man cocked a sharp brow. "That is to say?"

"I raised him alongside his mother, in the Cathedral of Naga," replied the war monk with a simple smile, eyes glancing over to where Robin had disappeared to.

"The cathedral?!" exclaimed the taller man, scandalised.

Libra frowned. "Why would you be so shocked, Sir Frederick? I understand the Grimleal coat may be misleading, but..."

With a tight grimace, as though he had eaten a rotten egg, the great knight suddenly knelt before him. "I must ask for both your forgiveness! I am known as Frederick the Wary for my caution and devotion to my lord. I strongly suspected Robin was a danger up until this very moment. I'm relieved to hear my suspicions so clearly refuted!"

It had been Libra's understanding this man was the epitome of composure and chivalry. The sudden switch left him in want for a candid response, especially at how his presence in Robin's past had so severely flawed the man's judgement. "A-ah, of course."

"Still, do you not know the origin of that coat?" Sir Frederick asked as he rose.

How much to reveal?

"It was a disguise for his mother to escape the Grimleal. She's kept it ever since, as a reminder of what should have never happened," he chose to say.

Selfishly, he wished Ri'ze didn't regret.

* * *

Lightening struck. Thunder roared. Chrom bared his teeth like a rabid beast, splattered with blood the rain would never wash away, fire in his eyes, Falchion poised to rend him asunder.

Robin froze, hand a hair's breadth off from knocking on Chrom's door.

Libra — a childhood friend, a brother he did not recognise — had reassured him on every insecurity, every fear he had stopping him from just knocking on that door. But it lingered. Libra had not seen that ire. Libra had not felt that betrayal. Libra had not felt the terror of being turned upon by the one he trusted most.

No. He had. Barely half an hour ago. Robin had been like Chrom to him.

Knowing this, he forced Libra's words of encouragement to the forefront of his mind, and knocked before he could regret it.

Something was slammed onto wood in surprise inside, and Chrom cursing followed. Footsteps approached, and the door cracked open enough to reveal half of Chrom's face. The sapphire eye widened, and the door swung open, crashing against the wall. His hair was unkempt and greasy. He'd taken off his shoulder guard, long white cape, and belts, leaving him in his one-sleeved top, trousers and boots. He had stubble growing, and it occurred to Robin that he had never seen Chrom so...imperfect.

"Listen, Robin! I'm so sorry for all I've said and done! I'm so s—"

Robin rushed into him. He buried his face into the older man's chest, studiously ignoring the rancid stench overpowering his nostrils, sobbing quietly as his resolve crumbled.

"I'm sorry! I'm s-so s-sorry! I-I'm...so s-so s-sorry!" he cried into the prince's torso, staining his tunic with salt water. The man did not return the hug, too stunned at the sudden change in demeanour.

"What are you sorry for? You didn't do anything wrong!" he exclaimed, arms still raised in surprise.

Robin tried to formulate a response, but all he could get out was incoherent wails. After a moment, Chrom hugged him in return, and guided him to sit on one of the chairs at his desk, opposite the other. When he finally calmed down enough to speak, he pulled away and looked up at the prince, still hiccupping quietly.

"Chrom, I'm... I'm so sorry. My plan j-just wasn't...enough," he whimpered.

The man's eyes widened in horror, and he fervently shook his head. "You did your best, Robin... You have my thanks. It's my own failures that haunt me now." He gritted his teeth, the grip he maintained on Robin's shoulders tightening. "Gods, I was just so powerless!"

"It's not your fault either, Chrom."

“...She did it for me, Robin," Chrom stated firmly through his remorse. "So that I wouldn't have to live with the guilt of either choice, she chose for me. She sacrificed herself rather than give up what could one day save her people...”

“Chrom..." In a moment of inspiration, Robin stood, placing himself squarely before the prince. "Listen to me. Look at me.”

The man did as he was told, meeting Robin's steeled silver eyes above his tear-stained cheeks.

“I was powerless once, too, remember? And yes, alone, I don't think either one of us is half the person your sister was. But together...maybe we can be something more. If you fall, I'll be there to pull you back up. When you fight for your sister's ideals, I'll be by your side. You don't have to become your sister, you know. You can still be true to yourself. You just have to give people hope in whatever way you can.”

In doubt, Chrom shook his head. “And what if I can't? What if I'm not worthy of her ideals? Robin, what if I drag you down with me?”

Surely, he should know he was already in this for the long run.

“If you aren't worthy, you'll keep at it until you are. And if we both fall down, well," Robin shrugged, letting a small smile settle, "that's what friends are for, isn't it?”

Chrom could only gape at him after his miniature speech. He hung his head, uttering a breathless "thank you".

A knock, and they both turned to see Sumia standing in the open doorway, Libra, having removed his chestplate and vambraces, standing just behind her, his narrow jade eyes watching Robin warmly.

"Um, Chrom?" Sumia asked tentatively, and gestured to the space of desk between the two. "Why do you have an open bottle of wine?"

Chrom laughed nervously as Robin looked at the desk, seeing the green glass bottle, opened. A bit had spilled and stained the wood. So, that must have been what he'd heard when knocking.

"Have you sorted yourselves out?" Libra queried, arms apart and inviting Robin close.

He hesitated, before standing and moving to lean against Libra, who gladly enclosed him in strong arms again. Even if the man was still a stranger to him, and his heartbeat spiked at the touch, he knew Robin. The amnesiac could only imagine what it was like for his only friend to forget him and refuse contact. He wouldn't be like that if he could help it. If Libra wanted contact despite his unexplained fear, Robin would indulge him.

Even if it raised a few questions.

"What did you two discuss before coming here?" Chrom asked, with a tone implying he did not expect an answer if they wanted to keep it private.

"That I've known Robin since he was two years old," Libra explained briefly. "We grew up together."

Sumia gasped. "That's wonderful! Finally someone who knows you, Robin."

"Ah..." was all Chrom could come out with.

Robin, face buried in the war monk's warm chest, felt him nod. "Yes, though it seems we've yet to jog any memories. But that's no problem," he seemed to say as an afterthought, tightening his grip on the half-ghoul despite the shiver it sent up his spine.

Robin could not understand this man. But he also could not get himself to think of that as an issue. He would ask about these conflicting signals of fear and affection at some point soon, but not then. All he was fussed about then was the warmth and comfort Libra seemed desperate to drown him in, and the exhaustion he'd built up over the day of crying, and the satisfaction of a stomach finally less gapingly empty.

As though he read his mind, Libra gave a mildly amused hum and excused them from Chrom and Sumia, shepherding them away to Robin's room.

* * *

Haphephobia, Libra explained the next morning, without prompt. The war monk said it was a fear of touch, but that he fought to withstand it for Robin's sake. He invited Robin to touch him as often as he liked, only to best give him a little forewarning that he wanted to do so, lest the war monk lash out in panic. Robin duly noted it, and was gentle when initiating contact for the rest of the morning. He stayed as close as he sensed Libra was comfortable with. Or what he claimed to be comfortable with, anyway.

They sat together for breakfast in the mess hall with the rest of the Shepherds — all of whom were present in the hopes Chrom would turn up —, talking, catching up, and enjoying each other's company, as much as they could when one was a stranger and the other elicited constant fear. Much of Robin's past, including his mother, was a taboo subject amidst so many human ears, but they were fine with the war monk giving the tactician subjects to familiarise himself again. Robin made little input beyond his retelling of experiences with the Shepherds, Libra knowing most all there was to know about him.

Finally, the doors opened and Chrom entered, still not wearing any more armour than before, but cleaned up and looking significantly healthier as he joined the khans at the head of the table. The din of conversation immediately lowered and disappeared, everyone awaiting his words, whether he had any or not.

The prince, after a few words with the Feroxi, turned to the Shepherds.

"I know you've all been waiting for what should happen next, so I'll get straight to the point. I won't wallow in remorse. Not now. Now is the time for me to be strong, and lead you all."

The manakete, Nowi, cried out, “That's right. I wouldn’t even be here if not for you.”

“You gave me your trust and now you have mine,” next murmured Tharja, the dark mage they’d picked up at the execution. “...For the time being.”

From beside Lissa, Lon’qu stated, “Were you unworthy, I would have left long ago.”

“It took great courage and charisma to unite all of us,” Virion enunciated with unnecessary flair. “I knew I possessed such talents, but clearly you do as well!”

“Yeah. We all look up to you! You're like a hero to us,” Ricken yelled, his small body trembling with excitement.

A grin had taken over Chrom's face with their encouragements, and he answered sincerely, “Thank you, everyone. Your words mean more than you could know. My Shepherds... My warriors... There is work to be done. Gangrel must be stopped so that peace can once again reign in Ylisse. Will you help me?”

Though her eyes were still red, Lissa raised her hand. “You can count me in! I'm tired of crying all the time! It's time to start punchin' stuff!”

“Hear, hear, darling!" Maribelle agreed from opposite her. "Our people have suffered enough.”

“Gladly would I fight and die for House Ylisse!” Stahl announced, taking a salute.

Sully punched him on the shoulder, scarlet gauntlet meeting his olive pauldron. “Gladly would I fight and KILL those bastards for House Ylisse!”

Libra inclined his head. “Our hearts echo yours, sire.”

Sumia placed her fists on her hips and puffed out her chest. “I will be the the unbreakable shield by your side!”

“I'm with you, too! You know. Just in case anyone... Hello?”

Vaike grinned and pounded his bare chest. “Teach is here and class is in session!”

“How much you pay Gregor?" asked the aged mercenary, then laughed. "Gregor make joke! ...Why you look at Gregor like that?”

“Your sister earned my respect," Panne said without her usual snarl. "The last taguel shall champion her.”

Frederick stood. “You have grown strong, milord. I may have set a poor example as a knight... but I swear to you,” he bowed, “I shall die before any more exalted blood is spilled!”

“...Thank you all. Truly. You honour me with your fealty." Chrom took a moment to gather himself. He then swore proudly, "I will not falter again. We shall answer this outrage! The Mad King must be stopped!”

Khan Flavia grinned. “Right! It's time for ol' Gangrel to get a dose of his own vulnerary! The whole Feroxi army is yours to send crashing against him!”

Khan Basilio laughed deeply. "You young folk — your passions run so hot! If I had any grey hairs, you would've singed 'em right off. In other words, count me in!”

The young woman who had smuggled them out of the Midmire, Olivia, slowly moved forward from the crowd, the thick ponytail and twin plaits of rose hair gliding behind her. She wore surprisingly revealing white clothing for a Feroxi girl, black translucent material over her arms and legs, the latter not covering her inner thighs and hanging from feathery clips on her hips. She wore golden rings on her upper arms and heels, a sash hanging from her large bracelets.

“I'd like to go too, if I may," she said quietly to the prince. "The exalt did me a kindness once.”

“She did?”

“Y-yes, sire. It would honor me to have a part in giving her justice! Although all I can do is dance... And I'm not so skilled at that, if we're being honest...” She trailed off, a bashful red tinging her cheeks.

“Har har! She's too modest!" Khan Basilio wrapped his arm around her pale shoulders, squeezing her against his side. "Olivia is a Feroxi treasure. You won't meet a finer dancer in all the realms! Her moves inspire soldiers to work twice as hard! You'll do well to bring her along, Commander.”

Chrom cocked a brow. “‘Commander’? What happened to ‘boy’?”

“You've earned your way up from that name, I think. Now, where were we? Oh yes! I was just about to start cracking skulls!" shouted the West-Khan. "Flavia will lead me and the other Feroxi in a head-on assault. That should buy you enough time to take down Gangrel. Hear that, boy! You get the fun part!”

“I thought you weren't going to call me—“

Again, Khan Basilio cut in, “You and Robin have my every confidence. You're a born leader, and he has a knack of guiding troops to victory. You both have some growing to do yet, but I can already see you'll grow tall. Well,” he glanced down to the tactician, “figuratively speaking.”

Libra stifled a laugh. Robin would have felt bad elbowing him.

Mouth still hanging from the interruption, it took Chrom a moment to form a grateful, “Thanks, Basilio.”

“Alright, enough talk." The West-Khan clapped his fist into an open palm. "It's time to raise some hell!”

“Right.”

Basilio clapped the prince across the shoulders. “Let's get to it, then! Gangrel may try to hit us while we're still licking our wounds.”

“Let him try," Chrom answered without missing a beat. "This time, I'm ready to dethrone the Mad King, once and for all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One guest reviewer tried to decipher a moral in the last chapter.
> 
> “Your life might be considered a mistake, but it doesn't matter because you exist and people love you [...].”
> 
> Not exactly what I'd intended, but each to one's own, I guess.
> 
> You finally got something positive today — a well-deserved reunion for the little and not-so-little cinnamon rolls.


	22. Instability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> USERNAME CHANGES! Formerly Anichame on most sites, I’m now chaedè on ft.net, AO3, and Wattpad (@chalede). I just really didn’t like the other name’s meaning. I created it when I was thirteen and for some reason still used it up until now. It's still anichame on DeviantArt, since I can't change it without CORE membership.

"How old am I?" 

"Seventeen."

"Huh... I assumed I was younger," Robin muttered.

"As others always have. You've always been small for your age, though you have had a bit of a spurt since you were fifteen," Libra commented as he tightened the bandages meant to restrain his sore shoulder. Idly, Robin wondered how many people got to see a clergyman topless.

By the time they'd re-entered Plegia and had arrived at the western post-monsoon wastelands, news of Libra and Robin's shared past had spread through camp like wildfire. They were practically obliged to share a tent newly-provided for Libra in the sincere hopes of jogging his memory. So far, they'd had no success; not even the minutest fragment had returned from the depths of Robin's mind. Libra refused to accept that, despite Robin having long surrendered himself to the idea that he wouldn't know his mother's face, her voice, her touch... Not for a while yet.

"And it's been two years since you last saw me..." continued the tactician as he gathered the assault plans. "Why exactly did my mother and I have to leave?"

He heard Libra pause his movements, and sigh. "There were many pursuers. Grimleal, CCG... And the hierarch, even without knowing much of you, was far less welcoming than the late High Priest — the gods bless him."

Robin turned to face him, cocking his head. "What exactly was my mother doing with the Grimleal if she is faithful to the divine dragon, anyway?"

The blond hesitated, and released a long, heavy sigh. He looked over his shoulder at him. "I fear it is not my place to disclose that. Forgive me, Robin."

The albino glanced at his right hand, the fell dragon's sigil ever-concealed by his vambraces. "I'm guessing the same goes for this tattoo on my hand...? Unless that's news to you?"

Libra shook his head, looking away. "Again, I'm afraid... I should warn you that when Ri'ze explained it to you, it was so heartbreaking that it created a rift between you. Temporarily, of course," he hastened to reassure, "but enough to greatly shake the both of you, and later me." Again, the war monk paused, before concluding solemnly, "The only thing I feel comfortable telling you is that it... It's a so-called 'gift' from your father."

"I see... Alright." It wasn't, but it seemed Robin would have to drop the subject, anyway. He rolled up the last piece of parchment and tucked it under his arm with the rest. "I need to bring these over now. I'll see you—"

"Wait!" Libra called, standing as Robin made his way to the entrance of their tent. "There is something that's been on my mind for a while now which we must discuss. It shan't take long."

At the grave tone, Robin obediently watched. "What is it?"

"Falchion. That was the sword his liege attacked you with, is it not?"

"Yes. Why—" It clicked. "Falchion can cut me."

"Yes. It is not of ordinary steel. The Fire Emblem and Falchion are two of Lady Naga's fangs, forged into these weapons to slay the fell dragon," said the war monk with regret, a tone that would certainly be blasphemous to others of the faith.

"They slay Grimaspawn," Robin said instead.

Libra nodded. "And you're no mere ghoul. You're a hybrid, superior to either species alone. But clearly you bear the same weakness. Please, keep this in mind."

"Right. I will."

* * *

Gangrel and Ka'nae waited inside a small, dilapidated fortress from the last exalt's war, in the middle of the muddy wastelands west of the Shepherds' encampment. All that truly remained of it was four crumbling walls with an entrance on the south side, which no longer had any doors to keep intruders from entering. The smell of the heavy rain, which had lasted until the day before, lingered strongly in the air.

A black pegasus landed before them, its tightly ebon-clad flyer bearing an unreadable expression.

"The enemy has just reached us, milord," Aversa reported, without her usual snide intonation.

"Back already?" Gangrel asked, and laughed, "Ha! It feels as though we just said our good-byes..."

"Our scouts report they are in surprisingly good spirits."

"Since when do you trust our scouts?" scoffed the Mad King. "Besides, what does it matter? They're armed like beggars compared to us! I could break their ranks as easily as I break wind."

The dark flyer regained her devious grin. "I'd love to hear the song the bards make of that."

Ka'nae fought to conceal his disgust at such uncouth behaviour.

"Aversa, there is a truth about he world this Ylissean whelp must learn," Gangrel started darkly. "A man is either strong...or he is dead! Bwa ha haaa!"

His cackles were interrupted by a soldier bursting into the fortress, out of breath and the stink of terror and sweat wafting from his red garbs.

"Y-Your Highness!" he stammered with an awkward, rushed bow. "Dire news!"

Gangrel's eyes flashed dangerously. "Oh? Speak."

“Our troops are laying down their weapons and deserting en masse!” he reported, head bowed. He trembled with palpable fear. “Please, sire... I am but a messenger... Have mercy...”

Ka'nae hid his smirk.

* * *

Entering the war tent, the first thing Robin spotted was Chrom leaning against the map-covered table deep in thought. His right glove was off, and he was rubbing a golden ring he bore there with his other thumb. Robin recognised the Brand of the Exalt engraved on the top of it.

"Chrom?" called the tactician, moving to the opposite side of the table.

"Oh!” Chrom startled, knocked back into reality. “Don't surprise me like that, Robin!”

"What's wrong? If something's bothering you, I'd be happy to listen," offered the younger male.

Chrom shook his head. "No. No, nothing's wrong, it's just that..." He trailed off, then took a deep breath, as if about to reveal a great secret. "I... I think I'm in love with Sumia. Have been for a while, I just didn't realise it till now. I plan on confessing to her when this is all over..."

Robin collapsed with laughter.

"H-hey! It's not funny, Robin!" exclaimed the prince. The boy dropped his scrolls and banged the table he supported himself on, unable to breathe in between bouts of hysteria. "Why are you laughing so much!?"

"Y...you... You only just realised it?!" he managed to say, clutching his stomach as he kept giggling.

Red-faced, Chrom exclaimed, "Well, yes! It's not that easy to figure out, you know!"

"EVERYONE ELSE HAS!" Robin blurted out, his fits having calmed down enough to say thatshort sentence, and it set him off giggling again. "All the Shepherds know you two are a thing! It was one of the first things I learned about you!"

Flustered and at a loss for words, Chrom turned away, scratching the back of his head. "Er... Was it really that obvious?"

Breathing heavily and equally flushed, the boy wiped a stray tear from his eye. His voice had a higher pitch in his amusement. "You could see it from Valm, for heaven's sake! Oh, gods...” Another cough-like giggle escaped between his heavy breaths. “I haven’t had a laugh like that in...ever!”

There was a pointed clearing of the throat. "Milord, Robin, if this interesting conversation is quite finished, I've a report from Khan Flavia."

Even Frederick had an amused smile on his face as he entered the tent. He forced it down in the time it took him to pick up Robin’s dropped plans, the tactician still a little too excited to think of doing such himself. With them spread out on the table and the atmosphere more serious, he made his report.

"The Plegian army is in disarray."

Chrom, the red on his cheeks having calmed to a pinkish tinge, immediately turned to attention. "How do you mean?"

"It seems many of their soldiers are opposed to further violence," elaborated the great knight. "There has been infighting, desertion... Gangrel is trying to stamp out the mutiny by force, but with little success. Outside of a faithful few who serve him directly, his army has all but collapsed."

"This is incredible news. But why...?" he trailed off, his gaze turning sombre. "...Emmeryn."

Frederick nodded softly, tone warming from the professional report. "Yes, milord. Emmeryn. The report says Gangrel's men chant her name as they abandon the field. Her words, and her sacrifice, have made her a folk hero of sorts."

Chrom placed a hand on his hip, looking down. "Emmeryn..." he repeated. "Why did it take me so long to understand? She believed all people desire peace. She knew, deep down, the Plegians wanted it, too. It just took her to bring it to the surface." His eyes closed remorsefully.

Robin could only smile. She was guiding everyone to peace even in death.

"I hope she can see this, wherever she is... Tomorrow, we'll put an end to Mad King Gangrel and bring peace back to the land."

"I'd better rethink my plan," Robin shrugged, starting to roll up the maps and grab some tactical books. "Mind if I take these?"

The way he asked it, already on his way out, did not offer much room for refusal.

"Robin, make sure I get to fight Gangrel," Chrom requested after him.

A feeling of dread settled in the half-ghoul's stomach, halting his steps. A human with an apparently irresistible aroma against a Rate S. It had to be the definition of suicide. "I'll see what I can do," said the tactician without turning to face the others. "I'll have it done by morning."

Heading to his tent, he already began reforming the separate squads and their positions in his mind. The basic layout of the strategy remained the same, but he needed to get information on the enemies' new formation. He could have done that himself on a good day — a full stomach and without the rain from the last month. His senses were dulled by weakness and the lingering moisture, the scents having been washed away, so he could not rely on them to judge the opposing forces by himself. Of course, he knew someone who could.

"Hey, Bubbles!"

Speak of the devil. Robin raised his gaze from his plans to see the ginger thief running up to him with a ballooning sack thrown over his back, clearly out of breath.

"Gaius, just the man I wanted to—"

"I don't wanna give you more blackmail material, but— Oh hell! Just tell me where I can hide! Quickly!" Gaius hastily spoke, doubling over and placing his free hand on his knee.

"Er... Did you do something wrong?" questioned the boy.

The thief shook his head. "No! But Kid won't leave me alone..."

Robin's mouth quirked in amusement, and he asked in mock-obliviousness, "Why would Nowi be chasing you?"

"'Cause she found out about my secret stash!" Gaius explained, readjusting the sack bulging with his sugary treats. "Now, please tell me where I can hide these babies!"

Robin hesitated, "That's...not exactly my field of expertise, and I need to give you a task."

The man fidgeted and looked around nervously. The small manakete, followed by a lean boy, Donnel, appeared in the distance, glancing over and sprinting to them.

"Uh oh... Sorry, Bubbles! Catch you later! Gotta run!" Gaius hastily apologised, taking off into a full sprint himself before Robin could say anything to stop him.

"Gaius! Gimme Candy!!" Nowi squealed as she ran past the tactician with an over-excited wave as greeting, swiftly followed by Donnel begging for the manakete to stop, leaving Robin standing alone in the middle of the camp. Knowing Gaius, they would be running after one another whilst the daylight still lasted, after which would be the best time to scout out the enemy and report. It seemed Robin would have to seek Gaius out again later, and would be getting very little sleep. He would need to keep working on strategies for every possible scenario — including Aversa summoning Risen, he mused sombrely.

As he distanced himself from the centre of the camp and the noises abated, he should have had a better environment to think in as he approached his and Libra's tent. However, the sound of footsteps did not cease, haunting him even as he sped up away from camp. They seemed to speed up with him.

He stopped. The footfalls paused. He sniffed the air, catching a female scent he'd been noticing about him a lot, lately. Ever since their return from the failed assault at the Plegian's capital, in fact.

"Tharja?" he asked into the air. He saw no one, but knew the dark mage Chrom had recruited was around, hiding behind a nearby tent canvas. "...Are you following me?"

When the footfalls behind him restarted and stopped just behind him, he turned to see the scantily clad woman clutching her Nosferatu tome to her chest, dark eyes, shaded by her black fringe, looking away from him.

"...Maybe," she muttered.

Robin huffed. "Maybe?! I've seen you hiding behind tents and wagons all week!"

He had not. He'd smelled her. Libra had been the first to notice her, and so had several other Shepherds.

She smiled darkly, eyes meeting his. "So, you finally noticed...my love."

When he had finally comprehended that what he thought he'd heard was exactly what she'd said, he felt his cheeks and ears burn. "Sorry, what? Your...love?"

Her pale cheeks also took on a pinkish hue. "Oh yes. I realised it the first moment we locked eyes. 'He isn't like the others,' I thought. 'He's the one I've been seeking!'"

"Riiiiight. Well, um, thank you? ...I guess?" He took a step back. This was a level of awkward Robin hadn't thought possible. He almost preferred the moment Libra had reached out to him with a kagune to his forehead.

She giggled scarily. "That's why I've been watching your every...single...move. Yesterday, you read two books and part of a third. And last night, you turned over 12 times in your sleep. ...Well below your average."

He felt the cold grip of terror replace his embarrassment. "You've been watching me sleep?!"

"I thought you'd be grateful," she said, ever in a quiet, unsettling voice.

"No, I think 'disturbed' is more the word. You mean to tell me you've been following me every single day since we met?"

She looked away again, not bashfully. "Yes."

Alarm bells echoed in Robin's mind. "I suddenly feel very ill," he forced out, taking another step away from her.

Her gaze cut up to him, and she swiftly closed the distance he'd managed to build, smiling up at him sinisterly. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you." She kept him in place with a finger underneath his chin. He swallowed. "Veeery good care. And I promise not to feed you human food."

He gaped in horror, his stomach roiled, and his kakuhou tingled. If it were possible to grow any paler, he must have been in translucent that moment.

"I won’t reveal a thing,” she promised, eyes scanning him, almost reverently. “It's part of what makes you so intriguing."

In his rush of adrenaline, senses sharpened, he felt his left eye begging to change threateningly, and another recognisable smell from the woods. A ghoul.

Tharja seemed to notice his change in demeanour from afraid to alert, taking a small step back.

“Another ghoul?”

In the hope it would finally make her go away — Robin didn’t even care at that point if she revealed him, even knowing it was idiotic — he nodded truthfully.

“You’ll hear nothing from me. I keep my promises,” she swore, and slunk away like a cat.

Once she was out of sight, Robin continued in the direction of his tent, placed his plans on his desk with barely a "don't follow — ghoul" to a rather confused Libra, and hurried into the small dusk woods, which was barely more than foliage and a few meagre trees.

When he was far enough to be out of sight and hearing from the camp, Ka’nae von Rosewald emerged from the brush, more difficult to see in the darkness of the woods. He wore a black trench coat over his butler uniform, but removed his mask without prompt.

He gave Robin a tight smile, not quite daring to be hopeful. "I see you've returned to kill Gangrel. Wunderbar."

“Mr Rosewald,” Robin said as a greeting.

At the plain tone, the turncoat lowered his gaze slightly. "My condolences for your loss. I'm afraid I have failed my half of our alliance. But as this is of mutual interest once again, I have since made efforts to divide and conquer Gangrel."

Robin had nodded sadly at the expression of sympathy, his attention then piqued by the intriguing statement. "Mind telling me what that's supposed to mean?"

“You know of the infighting?”

“Yes. And you—“ A grin stretched across his face. “You’ve been busy shit-stirring.”

Rosewald almost pulled a face. “That’s a rather...crude way of putting it... But in essence, yes. All they needed was a little push. ‘Long live Emmeryn! Down with the Mad King!’ I yelled into the battlefield from the Plegian side, and others gradually joined in. No one wanted to be the first to say it.”

It somehow brought immeasurable relief to hear the news. Perhaps it had seemed too fantastic before, but Rosewald had again proven his worth. “Thank you...”

“You’re welcome. Now, onto our final battle.”

He unbuttoned his collar, reached down the front of his coat and retracted a rolled-up piece of parchment from an inside pocket. He sat down on crossed legs, Robin sitting on his haunches to join him, and rested the map on his thighs. With it being too dark for them to see the markings then, the mage summoned a small flame to hover over his palm and held it near the parchment — a map of the wasteland they would soon engage in battle upon. As always, Rosewald was anything if not prepared.

"There are small well-rounded units going to be stationed near the ruined forts. Here." He pointed to the Northwest. "Here." The west. "Here." The east. "Wyvern riders, who'll act as backup, all over the south. And Gangrel in this fortress, just south of an additional squad and north of the wyvern riders. Madame A, PG, and myself will be with him.”

He continued, "The eastern squad is largely comprised of sages, so beware their mana. Otherwise it's a wide variety of the few most faithful soldiers, mercenaries and conscripts, a little on the uncoordinated side."

"What about the wyvern riders? Do you have any idea where they might go once the battle begins?" Robin asked without raising his flitting gaze from the map.

"Gangrel has ordered nobody to intervene in his own fight against the prince."

The tactician's shoulders sagged. As long as he spread the Shepherds into equally effective parties, they were almost garanteed to make it. For whoever faced the Mad King themselves, however, it would be an entirely different story. He was almost certain of who he was going to bring along with him for that battle. Frederick, Sumia, Lissa, Lon'qu and Chrom. The myrmidon was going to have a Wyrmslayer in his arsenal, curtesy of Anna, and although he knew first-hand just how powerful Falchion was, he hesitated when it came to the prince. Lissa and Frederick would also be hard to dissuade from accompanying their brother and charge.

As he explained that to the other, Rosewald shook his head.

"I doubt you'll be able to stop him. And you know that, which is why you've even considered bringing them in the first place."

The boy sighed and nodded. "Is there anything else I need to know about?"

"No," said the lavender-haired man. "There aren't any exceptional soldiers to note, and Aversa is attending a 'matter of personal interest'."

Robin frowned, eyes cutting to him. "Gangrel would allow his closest subordinate to leave now?"

"He is the one enthralled by her. Aversa uses her charms to bend others to her will, and they work especially well on arrogant, lecherous men,” he answered sharply. “I do not know her motive, but she has him thoroughly wrapped around her little finger. Though she is clearly not fussed about keeping him alive.“

The albino slumped. "So, no Aversa, but they'll still be stuck with three ghouls."

"It is unfortunate I cannot provide Q-metal."

"'Q-metal'?" Robin parroted.

"Also known as quinque steel," Rosewald said as an explanation. "Do you at least know what quinque are?"

The tactician nodded. "The weapons used by the CCG."

A voice from camp caught his ear, but Robin focused on Rosewald’s definitions.

"Quinque are kakuhou removed from our bodies and attached to a hilt. In other words, they wield the claws of dead ghouls. It’s hard to decide if Q-metal is worse. Steel imbued with molten kagune, made into katana, shuriken, naginata, arrows, and the like, as well as used to build the quinque themselves."

Another voice had joined the loud one in the distant camp, distracting him. He diminished the flame in his hand and covered his ears, blocking out the nearby sound in favour of the voices in a heated argument, something he had never expected of them. He noted Rosewald mimicking him.

"How could you write that about him in the ghoul notes?!" Chrom yelled, followed by the sound of something wooden smashing.

Frederick was heard quietly sighing. "Milord, please, calm down and allow me to explain. I added a notice about Robin's mental state, as I saw it was necessary for the Shepherds, at least, to know who was leading them. It would also allow them to better understand his goals, motives, as well as notice any potential faults in his strategies."

Robin paled, beads of cold sweat forming at his brow. Mental state? What did Frederick mean? Was something wrong with him? Why was Chrom so angry about it? What was it? Was it bad? Were his plans faulty? How could his mind impede the Shepherds when that was exactly how he aided them?

"Or they will doubt him!" Chrom shouted. "I get why you did it. I get it! I just don't understand how you thought it was a good idea!" A heavy sigh escaped him, and his tense hands formed into fists. "...Emm entrusted this knowledge to us. She thought it best if he would never know, but now everyone does. How long is it going to take until Robin finds out, now? Not everyone can keep secrets!"

"Milord," Frederick started, still placid. "I believe they should know what they're dealing with, and I will take full responsibility should something unforeseeable occur."

"Frederick, I don't know about you, but if we hadn't known him as long as we do, nobody would believe his ideas. A tactician who's emotionally unstable? That's a big red flag going up!"

"Milord, I—"

Chrom groaned, a chair creaking as he leaned back into it and crossed his arms. "It's too late, now. Make sure nobody else finds out about this emotional instability."

Armour plates scraped against each other, shrieking in Robin's ears, as the great knight bowed. "Of course. I apologise for creating such a ruckus, milord. As I said earlier, I am prepared to take full responsibility for my actions, and I shall see to it that everything is cleared up and no one else finds out."

Armoured boots clanked as Frederick walked away, before he suddenly halted. "Speaking of ruckus, I shall see to it that a new desk is procured for you, milord." He bowed again, and left the tent.

Chrom leaned against the back of the chair, rubbing his face with his hands. "Shit."

Robin let his own hands fall into his lap, widened eyes lowered at the map in front of him. He did not move, frozen by what he had just heard about himself — what everyone had known. Everyone except him.

"...Eine kleine Maus such as yourself does not belong in a war," Rosewald whispered, sympathy accenting in his tone.

Robin hunched over in response, fists clenching in his lap and salty droplets dripping from his eyes. His shoulders shook at his little sobs as he futilely tried to stop weeping, shutting his eyes tightly.

To his surprise, his ally attempted to comfort him. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're a good person, better than many other people I know, and you'll achieve great things. Your emotions don't play a part in that."

Robin looked up, face wet and still hiccupping. "And what about my personality? If that always changes, then...!"

He smiled bitterly. "All ghouls switch personas. I know who you truly are will not veer from where it should be. Just because you've discovered something new about yourself today, does that really change who you were when you woke, when you met me, or who you will be in the days to come?"

Robin sniffed lightly, rubbed his nose on his cloak's sleeve, and shook his head slightly.

"Look at me — the Shepherds' tactician reduced to this! Pathetic." He sniffed. The emotionally unstable, amnesic ghoul, the son of Ri'ze Kamishiro, was not weak. "I guess they'll find out even more about me soon."

"Indeed. This plan has but one extreme flaw — we must reveal ourselves," Rosewald said sharply, the lapse into sympathy forgotten.

But there was no other choice which left Chrom and the others alive. "I know... But I believe the ones who'll see are trustworthy enough."

"You 'believe' so? Du Trottel!" Rosewald snapped, lips curled in exasperation. "Do you have any idea of the danger this presents? Or has your amnesia destroyed your sense of self-preservation?!"

"No!" Robin yelled too quickly. "Actually, maybe yes to both. But you can fight anonymously, don't even need to take off your mask. Chrom will find out everything there is to know about me. If he so chose to, I could be hunted down by the CCG. In fact, with Falchion, he has a weapon to kill me himself. Regardless... If your will for vengeance is that strong, none of this will matter to you."

Rosewald looked away, and remained silent for a full minute. His eyes took on a distant quality, beginning to shimmer with repressed tears. His fists and jaw clenched with hatred. "…Gangrel came and destroyed my home, killed my loved ones, and stole their faces. Everything I ever cherished was taken from me that day. I've always believed that, should I ever find the strength, even if I defied him, I'd have nothing left, and that I couldn't possibly leave without that bargaining chip. But..." He blinked sharply, trying to not shed tears. "Seeing the exalt's martyrdom, her selflessness, that beautiful sacrifice for such an intangible thing as peace... Maybe my reason to be does not only lie in what he has stolen. If I don’t know it now, I'll find it. Somehow."

He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly, before Rosewald met Robin's gaze with new determination.

"Even if it means revealing myself, even if it means never regaining what he has taken from me, I'll fight Gangrel with all my might. And I will live by myself. My... Mein geliebter Shuu would want that."


	23. Twister

The Shepherds were split into five fully capable groups — including the dancer, Olivia —, one to match each one of Gangrel's squads across the muddy wasteland. The ones approaching the fortress in which the Mad King, PG, Madame A, and Ka'nae resided would be Kamishiro, Prince Chrom, Princess Lissa, a pegasus knight called Sumia and a Chon'sin-born Feroxi myrmidon, Lon'qu. He had expected the prince, and known the princess would come to support her brother. That they needed to tackle the king to not attract suspicion from other Ylisseans nonetheless jeopardised Ka'nae and Kamishiro’s secrecy.

All that remained between the Ylisseans and suicide was the half-crumbled northern wall of the fortress. Gangrel awaited their move in the middle of the roofless building, the other three ghouls lined up behind him. Every one was masked; Madame A with her tinted goggles, PG's black and white pantomime mask resembling a court jester's, a heart on the right cheek and red lips, and Ka'nae with his domino mask. But Gangrel, he wore a mask in the shape of a crescent moon which left only the lower right side of his face visible. A disturbing, diamond-shaped grin stretched from the bridge of his nose over where the mask concealed his left eye, his right only able to see through a slit in the just beneath the crescent over his forehead.

How dare he wear Shuu Tsukiyama's mask!

Ka'nae fought to restrain himself. Only he and the tactician knew of the actual plan, unlike their respective entourages. They would win. Master Shuu's last possession would soon be his.

Suddenly, a white blur launched into the sky and dived to Gangrel. Prince Chrom jumped off with the holy blade Falchion brandished and arched down onto the Mad King.

"Your end has come!" roared the prince. His sword came down. The king blocked the strike, then pushed Prince Chrom off with his jagged blade.

It was a third tier sword, forged with steel, and the blade ran in a zigzag shape with gold down the middle. A glowing teardrop gem was placed in the guard. From it came golden electric sparks zipping up and down the steel. The Levin sword was a truly powerful weapon, one that required both sword mastery and magical aptitude to wield at its full potential, as its true power came from the thunder magic imbued in the gem.

"Good day, my little princeling!" Gangrel greeted the blue-haired man, a sickening grin distorting his face. "Still dreaming of your squashed sister?"

"No more talk, Gangrel," Chrom growled as the pegasus knight landed beside him, Beastslayer raised. Ka'nae didn’t recognise her as the timid girl Kamishiro had described. "Today you die, and peace returns to Ylisse and Plegia."

Kamishiro, Princess Lissa, and Lon’qu entered from the sides of the fort, each one with weapons — the myrmidon’s a Wyrmslayer — or staff in hand, ready to defend their prince. The tactician’s eyes scanned the fort from beneath his cowl, and he only met Ka’nae’s gaze for one firm second. He was wearing his open-backed black top and dark trousers beneath his usual coat.

"Pah! Such hypocrisy!" spat the king. "You despise me, wretch! You want to cut me down! You don't know the first thing about peace. No man does!"

The prince gritted his teeth, swinging Falchion behind him. "I know more than you ever will."

"More than me? More than ME?!" Gangrel asked hysterically, and shrieked, "You ARE me! When life asks you a question, you answer with blood!"

The other faltered a little, lowering his head. "Maybe you're right... I will never be my sister. I cannot forgive men like you — men who sow nothing but evil. All I have left of her are words, and her memory. Were I alone, I might be driven to madness. ...Or worse." He raised his gaze, eyes burning with hatred and determination. "But I'm not alone. My friends and brothers-in-arms stand beside me."

"...Are you done? May I vomit now? Bwa ha ha! What a flowery harangue!" Gangrel exclaimed. "Men are beasts! Nothing more! We hunt! We kill! We devour our prey! Beasts do not stand behind beasts, little prince... They use each other only so long as it suits their own selfish purpose!"

"Perhaps this explains why your own soldiers refuse to stand behind you?" retorted Prince Chrom. "You are a poison. A festering wound. And I will do what my sister could not."

“Such a clever tongue you have, little prince...” Gangrel raised his Levin sword with a sadistic grin. “It’ll look quite fetching on my mantle!”

The prince leapt back as a golden bolt of lightning struck down where he’d once stood. Sumia’s pegasus whinnied as she spurred it back into the air, and Kamishiro ran to engage PG and Madame A with Elthunder.

"Lon'qu! Get the butler!" he ordered. The Chon'sin man nodded and hissed at Lissa to stay behind. The prince charged at Gangrel, locking blades with him.

"Ka'nae! Stop him!" yelled the king. The slave stepped into his prim posture before the myrmidon, who held his killing edge threateningly, breaking his line of sight to the princess. The Valmese man retrieved his bikaku-type Q-metal daggers from inside his coat, pressing them against his sides.

"You will not best me in a fight," he warned in Chon'sin.

If Lon'qu was surprised at his fluent mastery of the tongue, he did well not showing it. He moved to slash Ka'nae across the chest.

Parrying the blow with his dagger, the former noble hissed, "Strike the Mad King with the Wyrmslayer."

Lon'qu cocked a brow, and attempted at a second strike at the legs.

Princess Lissa yelped as Ka'nae kicked the myrmidon in the gut and jumped back over the blade. Lon’qu crashed into her and the mud. The masked one walked back to his original position, leaving a thoroughly winded Lon'qu and shaken Lissa behind.

Kamishiro then ordered him to retreat and focus on defence. Reluctantly, Lon'qu followed the command and observed the battlefield for any attempts at the prince.

In turn, Ka’nae watched the spectacle of Kamishiro releasing bolt after bolt of Elthunder at the other ghouls, who remained ignorant to his species, belief by his human aroma. PG danced about the magic, chuckling at the half-ghoul’s display. Madame A was less successful at evading in her red gown. She smelled of burnt flesh.

"Come, princeling!" he heard the Mad King goad. "I've sharpened my sword just for you!"

"My sister wished for all people to know peace, Gangrel," growled the prince. "But as long as you draw breath, it can never come! For Ylisse!"

He continued his assault on Gangrel, either parried or dodged completely, haunted by a continuous, crazed grin. The pegasus knight lunged at Gangrel from behind with her Beastslayer. The Mad King jumped aside and slashed with the Levin sword. She screamed as it cut through the unarmored part of her arm, leaving a jagged wound behind. Her pegasus cried and writhed with her at the electrocution.

"SUMIA!!" The prince cried as he rushed Gangrel, allowing his comrade to flee. He swung down and locked blades again. Sparks flew and the shrieking left a ringing in the ghoul’s ears. The Mad King kicked the Ylissean off with an unsettling crack, sending the prince rolling away in the mud past Lon'qu, who had been running to his aid, until he reached Sumia, healed by Princess Lissa nearer the northern wall.

“He’s so strong,” groaned the prince as he struggled to stand, futilely, his breath rattling and sounding bubbly. Mud-clotted hair fell in his face and dark blood ran from his mouth.

"Why those masks?" muttered the princess as she focused on treating her brother’s fractured ribs and punctured lung.

Prince Chrom seemed prepared to charge as soon as she had.

Lon'qu grabbed his arm, eyes narrowed at the Mad King.

"Lon'qu, what—?"

The Feroxi swordsman glanced over the ones on Gangrel’s side still in combat with Kamishiro.

His voice was grave.

"Ghouls wear masks."

Gangrel threw his head back and shrieked with hysterical laughter, louder than ever before, drowning anything else Lon’qu would have said. He doubled over, clutching his gut and using his sword as a crutch, unable to stop his fits.

"WELL WELL WELL!! You’ve got a sniffer among your dogs!" He barked more laughter, not even raising his head when he spoke to the prince. "I was known by another name before I became Mad King Gangrel, or MK at the Restaurant!"

The humans blanched. A tearing, then crackling emanated from the flat, narrow structure exiting from just below the Mad King’s shoulder blades and curling around his dominant arm. Fearfully, the humans stared at the blood-red koukaku kagune, as it solidified into a twisted steely spring coming to a point at his hand, crackling in anticipation of battle.

"TWISTER!!" announced the S-rated ghoul.

Princess Lissa squeaked, clutching her staff with a shaky, white-knuckled grip. Sumia and Lon'qu could only stare in horror. The prince trembled.

"Robin, get away from them!" he cried. Kamishiro met his gaze briefly, but did not heed him, continued his electric battle against the two revealed ghouls. "Now! Robin!"

Ka’nae grinned.

He unleashed a pair whip-like tendrils, with ribbonesque formations wrapping themselves around them like vines, and bombarded Gangrel. The madman shielded himself from the stabbing of Ka'nae's rinkaku with his shield type. His coil being so hard meant he could only lunge. It wasn't flexible enough to wrap and crush, unless confined by the insides of a body. Unlike a rinkaku, which had the brute strength to smash Twister's defences. Paper over rock; rinkaku over koukaku.

"You piece of shit!" Gangrel cursed from beneath the stolen mask, and raised the Levin sword.

Ka'nae rolled away from the lightning that burst from the sigil above him. He looked up. The kagune rushed towards him. He stepped aside and grabbed the koukaku with his tentacles and wrapped them tightly. He released a third tentacle to further bind it, feeling it crack.

Gangrel raised the sword again. Ka'nae let go to evade. He threw a dagger at the madman's head.

The usually agile king was slowed by the weight of his koukaku-type. The quinque steel broke the skin of his cheek, deep enough to release blood and scrape bone, just beneath the edge of the moon-shaped mask. It split his ear and the strap holding the mask in place.

Gangrel cursed and stumbled back, clutching the side of his face with his right hand and retracting his kagune to shield his torso. His kakugan eyes gleamed with rage when they met Ka'nae's.

He could only grin. His kagune trembled in thrill as he picked up dearest Master Shuu's mask, brushing off the mud in a manner more delicate than he would treat a sacred artefact.

He held it up, the Holy Grail he had never dared leave behind, the last memento of his glorious days with Master Shuu. It revitalised him. It gave him purpose.

“Es ist Zeit für die glorreiche Hauptspeise!” he cried with glee, looking down his nose at the man who'd taken everything from him. “Einen wunderschön blutigen Danse Macabre!”

(It is time for the glorious main dish! A beautifully bloody Danse Macabre!)

PG was flung over them and crashed into the fort's eastern wall.

* * *

 

"Robin, get away from them!"

He glanced back at Chrom, saw the terror in his eyes, and was certain that would be the last time he'd ever meet them.

"Now! Robin!"

Not yet. If he was going to leave the only friends he'd ever known, the ones who had granted him their trust against all reason, the ones who had given him a life, then he would do so in a last attempt to retain their faith the only way he knew how — a fight to prove his loyalty.

As Ka'nae distracted them with his battle against Gangrel, Robin shut his tome and turned to the little strength remaining from that arm Libra had given him.

A ghoul’s hunger could only be described as utter hell, and never could there be enough emphasis on its devastating effects, wearing away his sanity and reason. Saliva gushed in his mouth. Dribbled out. His left eye twitched as the kakugan manifested. Madame A and PG barely had time to realise they’d lost before he lunged for the female.

He kicked her right in the mouth, relishing the gratifying cracks of her teeth leaving her gums, her jaw breaking, her head smashing against the stone behind her, blood gushing and splattering the stone and spinal fluid bursting out when his heel met her first vertebrae and crushed them, too.

That solved the problem of her attracting attention with her screams. He grabbed her left arm, twisted it until the humerus broke from her shoulder joint, then bit it free of the muscle and ligaments keeping it attached.

The taste of a ghoul's flesh and blood was... He supposed a human might describe it like rotten fish. It was the most nauseating thing he could have imagined. It made bile rise up his throat and gave him the same urge to retch as human food. But it was far, far richer in Red Child cells than human flesh. He forced down a mouthful of female ghoul, and gripped the rest of the lifeless arm with his teeth.

He faced PG. He couldn't tell the ghoul's expression behind his full-face jester mask, but his posture and scent indicated caution and apprehension. He hadn't moved since Robin had grabbed Madame A, nor intervened in her defence. Not that it mattered.

Reenergised despite wanting to puke, he threw out his coat's material away from his lumbar and released at tentacle.

Finally, PG gasped, “Ri—“

Robin wrapped his rinkaku around his ankle and launched him across the fortress. PG collided with the wall and fell into the mud like a rag doll.

Chrom's whisper of his name, tinged with disbelief and fear, convinced him of his earlier conclusion.

With Robin devouring as much of the arm as he could, Rosewald spoke in Ylissean as he tied the mask to his right arm like an emblem, "In light of you gutting Herr Kamishiro in such poor taste, Twister, let us show you how it's done!"

“A one-eyed ghoul...?” Gangrel whispered as his gaze swivelled between the two. The cut on his cheek still bled. "You're two crazy little shits!" A manic grin split his face as he stood, “Even if you kill me, you will also be killed! By these Ylissean wretches! Clinging to each other won't save you maggots when the boot falls!”

"How about you just shut up for a sec?" Robin sneered around his last mouthful, uncaring of the blood and spittle flying from him. He threw the bones and cartilage aside, before leaving his coat with them. He didn’t want to get too much gore on it. “I haven't forgotten how it feels, but I promise I'll be gentler when I scramble your guts.”

A glimmer of fear entered Gangrel’s eyes as he looked between the two rinkaku, knowing they had the advantage of type and species.

He raised the Levin Sword, aiming a bolt at Robin. He dodged as Rosewald threw a knife. Gangrel curled his recovered claw into a gapless mass to shield himself from the Q-metal. The quinque steel ricocheted. He then broke into a sprint towards Chrom, koukaku uncoiling.

Robin raced till he was between them and wrapped his rinkaku around the shield-type to immobilise. He dug his hands and feet into the soft earth as Gangrel pushed against him.

His smirk was the only warning before magic lightning struck down upon Robin. Thoughts disappeared. Electricity arched through his body. His limbs and kagune burned, spasmed out of control for the longest few seconds of his life. His body wouldn’t even cooperate enough to scream.

Better him than the Shepherds.

Gangrel almost avoided the dagger — which Rosewald had retrieved — aimed at his skull, and it embedded itself in his right shoulder beside his koukaku coil.

Still in his leftward movement from the dagger, Gangrel moved into the next attack. A tentacle arched down to the king’s left arm. It was severed at the bicep, blood spurting from the artery in strong pulses.

Robin collapsed as Gangrel screamed his agony and the flow of mana to the sword was cut off. Tears flowing, he let the entire mass of his kagune flop to the ground and his body ride out the lingering electricity. The damage would repair soon enough, so he focused on regaining his rinkaku. With Rosewald preoccupying Gangrel with his retrieved knife and slashes of his rinkaku, Robin grabbed the severed arm with his, wrapped the tendrils around it, and crushed the bones inside, wringing it out like a washcloth. He dumped the Levin Sword towards the humans behind him.

Tremblingly, he smirked at Gangrel's horrified face as he heard the crackling of his own arm. Reattaching it was now pointless. And while ghouls could regrow limbs, it was a slow process.

At the momentary distraction, Rosewald plunged his tentacles into the earth and leapt over Gangrel, retrieving his second knife from the shoulder. He landed before Robin and the Shepherds, glanced at their terrified or exhausted expressions, and took up a defensive position.

“Mr Kamishiro, can you stand?”

Shakily and stumblingly, as the pain in his limbs was replaced with the tingling of regeneration, he did.

“That fricking hurts,” he growled, and wiped the tear trails from his face.

The Mad King's deranged giggles brought their attention back to him. He unwrapped his koukaku from around his right arm so he could press his hand against the stump of the destroyed one, flexing the kagune to test its remaining capabilities after the rinkaku's onslaught.

"I know that kagune! You crafty son of a Binge Eater!" he cackled, "Isn't that hilarious?! You just decided to waltz back in here on a whim, eh?! All to feast on your precious wretch-zalt!"

"Never! I WOULD NEVER DEVOUR EMMERYN!" How dare that madman even suggest the idea! Emmeryn should have never died! She had been nothing but good! Only the strong devoured the weak. Gangrel was not strong, and Emmeryn had not been weak!

"Gyah ha ha ha! Tough luck then! You wouldn't have gotten a look in, anyway!"

No.

“...You didn't,” Chrom rasped.

"What? You thought I’d have passed it up?!” Gangrel screeched, stumbling about in his madness. “I sure as hell DID! Hers was the BEST MEAT I EVER TASTED!"

Lissa screamed.

"BASTARD!!" Chrom roared.

Robin slammed his kagune into the ground and threw himself onto Gangrel. His kagune wrapped around Twister’s. He tightened his grip like a constrictor till he felt it crack, dug his fingers into the madman’s back when he used his only hand to grab Robin’s face in an attempt at pushing him off. The half-ghoul bit it, sunk his teeth into it, and pulled.

Gangrel’s screams fell upon deaf ears, and Robin’s grip didn’t loosen as the king fell backwards into the mud. The halfbreed drank the hand’s blood whilst fighting the urge to vomit. He tightened his grip on the koukaku.

It shattered. The flesh and bone in Robin’s mouth ripped from the hand. Twister threw his head back and wailed in anguish.

This wasn’t enough pain for all he’d wrought. For devouring Emmeryn!

Robin pierced the upper half of the remaining arm and legs with a tentacle, the fourth poised between he king’s eyes. He felt crooked grin split his wrathful face as he watched the Mad King suffer, but this wasn’t enough.

He ran his kagune outwards through the bones and doubled Gangrel’s limbs.

Strangely, he felt numb at the sound of his enemy’s cries. Had that been all he’d needed to expel his rage before this piece of shit?

No! Emmeryn was inside Gangrel's rotten flesh. She had been digested and was a new part of it. Ghouls ate human for the Rc cells that made them reject any other sustenance. So, he needed only eat Gangrel's kakuhou. Her few precious Red Child cells were in there.

Only the strong devoured the weak. Emmeryn had not been weak. He'd have rather gagged, choked, and regurgitated to his own death than leave her to decay within this insane monster. Even if it meant only a small part of her would be his, he'd tear every sliver of carrion from the Mad King's bones. And then, she would be inside him instead. Emmeryn would be inside Robin.

Parts of her had already disappeared with the dissolving kagune, but he'd salvage what he could.

He retracted his kagune and tore open Twister’s rib cage. He discarded the bones, the spasmodically beating heart, the lungs, the blood pooling in the hole he tore through the body, working his way down to the spine.

There. Just below his shoulder blades! There! The kidney-sized kagune sac. Emmeryn! He ripped it from the spine.

And stuffed his face.

“ROBIN!”

Eat! Eat! Eat! Don’t vomit! Eat! Don’t vomit! Eat! Don’t vomit! Eat! Don’t vomit! Eat don’t vomit eat don’t vomit eat don’t vomit eat don’t vomit eat don’t vomit don’t vomit DON’T VOMIT EMMERYN’S STILL IN THERE!!

“STOP!”

DON’TVOMITDON’TVOMITDON’TVOMITDON’TVOMITDON’TVOMITDON’TVOMIT _EMM_ —

A kick to his face. The blood and entrails were ejected from his mouth. He writhed his kagune, but it wouldn’t move. It wouldn’t move. Trapped. Caged. He was hoisted up by the collar. The fabric tore.

“YOU FOOL!” Ka’nae barked into his face, spittle flying from his mouth, kakugan eyes wide. “Cannibalise and your kagune will mutate! You’ll lose your mind!”

Robin was a mixed breed. All he ever did was cannibalism.

He threw his weight into his claw and slammed it and Rosewald’s restraint into the ground. He lunged for the stub of Gangrel's left arm, partially healed over with more Rc. He bit into it. Tore the flesh apart. Ate, ate, ate, couldn't vomit!

“STOP!”

Emmeryn's cells! He couldn't leave them with Gangrel! They had get out! He had to get them out! They had to be his—

“Emmeryn wouldn’t have wanted this!”

Chrom’s voice gave him pause. Stomach acid gurgled up his throat. He swallowed it down.

“Then let this be my only mutiny!”

There wasn’t any bite left in his shout. There was no remaining anger to throw at Chrom or Rosewald. He suddenly just felt tired. But full. Despite the nausea still burning in his gut, he could sense only satisfaction and fulfilment. Emmeryn was inside him, and not Gangrel’s mutilated, barely-recognisable cadaver. The kagune had crumbled and evaporated.

He stood, retracted his rinkaku inside his body, and looked to the prince. Chrom couldn’t hide the shock that flashed across his face. Robin belatedly realised he was drenched with blood. It itched on his face and plastered his hair together. He was only glad he had thrown his beloved coat aside before it got more messed up.

His stomach lurched. He couldn’t look the humans in the eyes, but he had to explain before they tried to cut him down.

“My father was human. My mother is the Binge Eater, rate S. I am half-ghoul, more powerful than the average—“

“You’re a ghoul?” Chrom asked.

Robin looked up. The prince was shaking his head slowly. His expression wasn’t of horror and rage, like Robin had expected, but abstract and disbelieving.

“It all makes sense now... The signs were all there. It was so obvious, right from day one.” Chrom’s voice was becoming more heated. “That freaky spacing out in Southtown, the vomiting, your knowledge on the battlefield—“

“Your lack of ghoul encounters in Plegia,” Rosewald cut in, kagune dispersed and kakugan inactive. “Your salvation. If not for Herr Kamishiro being half-ghoul, you would not be standing here, alive.”

Chrom’s gaze swivelled between the two non-humans, a new caution in his stance. Robin felt his legs shaking beneath that stare.

“What did you say...?”

Robin’s laugh was a deranged mutation of sound between amused and afraid.

“Kamishiro. Robin Kamishiro. That’s my name.”

Chrom’s brow furrowed. “Is your amnesia a lie, then?”

“No!” Robin yelped.

“Do you trust Exalt Emmeryn’s judgement?” Rosewald added again.

Chrom’s anger whipped to the lavender-haired man. “How dare you! Of course I do!”

“She knew of Herr Kamishiro’s identity, yet chose to trust him. She chose to trust me.”

The prince looked between the two. Robin shrank away beneath his gaze, and desperately resisted the urge to hide within his kagune.

Finally, Chrom's eyes met his. His hand was on Falchion.

"You've had so many opportunities to devour us," he said, slowly. "Why haven't you?"

A sob escaped Robin and tears broke free, washing away the blood on his face like tiny rivers.

"B-because you're my best f-friends," he choked out against the lump in his throat, and scrubbed at the tears. Why? Why did Chrom continue to stare at him? Why did he look so conflicted? Why couldn't he stop trembling and crying?

"Libra raised you, right? And you said your father was human?" asked the prince.

That was it?

“How ‘human’ I am? Is that all that matters to you?” was what came out, bitter as a mouthful of coffee beans. “Libra and my mother raised me because my human father was abusive. But you care more about that than how much I care about YOU?!”

The prince’s mouth was agape, trying to form something to perhaps calm the sudden turn in emotions. For once, Chrom was afraid of Robin’s anger, and some sick part of him enjoyed the petty display.

“Ro—“

“No! For once, this isn't about strategy or kicking some sense into your sorry arse. For once, this is about ME! So, shut up and listen!” Robin bellowed. He felt his eye twitch unpleasantly with his kakugan active. He didn’t care. “Emmeryn, Phila, Panne, Nowi, and Tharja ALL knew I was a ghoul! Libra raised me! My mother saved Emmeryn's life! I saved Emmeryn's life! I've choked down human food to hurl up afterwards for you! I've put my life on the line almost every night fighting ghouls FOR YOU! I stayed even though the stink of your blood makes me want to retch, FOR YOU! I almost ate Libra, but he brought me a severed arm so that my body wouldn’t go FOR any of YOU! If this is about me not being innocent, about eating you, guess what! You nearly killed me, but I broke down crying and forgave you because YOU'RE MY FRIEND! You...! I-I...!”

As he listed everything he’d done for Chrom, everything the prince meant to him, and saw his friend afraid of him at the same time, his resolve crumbled. His loyalty was pathetic, but it was irrevocable, and it made his rage feel all the more ridiculous. Chrom made mistakes. A lot of mistakes. But he had still showed Robin undeserved kindness, something he could only pray to return in full. He was too forgiving. He knew that. But what else was there for him to do?

He couldn’t bear to look that man in the eyes anymore. He wanted to shrink into his mother’s coat. It was several metres away.

“If all that m-means nothing to you...” he whispered. “If you still think I’m incapable of friendship because I’m half ghoul... You'll never need to see me again. Because despite all that, all you’ve done to me, all your flaws... You still showed me kindness even when others wouldn’t have. I... I could never hurt you...”

The silence was suffocating, broken only by his ragged breaths. He couldn’t disappear into his coat.

"I always thought ghouls would be really scary, but... You always seemed so human..."

He looked to the one speaking so tentatively, Lissa. She was pale, and the smell of her fear lingered in the air. But she smiled at him.

"Emm trusted you, right?" she asked.

“Yes,” Rosewald answered for him.

Robin looked over the Shepherds present. Lissa tried to smile. Sumia grasped her pegasus’ reins tightly, but made no move to flee. Lon’qu met his stare, unreadable but with fright in his pulse and scent.

Chrom’s brow was creased, but no longer in rage or fear. It was the same expression Robin remembered from when they met, when he had been unable to remember his name. It was worried, at a loss for what to do.

"If I'd known... I can't just...” His friend gave a heavy sigh, took a deep breath, and met Robin’s gaze with a softer, sadder look than before. “You're right. You've stood beside me all this time, no matter how much it must have pained you. And if you hadn’t, I doubt we’d have survived this long. You're my friend, too. I’ve been cruel to you, and all I can say is I’m sorry. As if that’s enough.” He shook his head. “But I truly am sorry. Would you... Would you find it in yourself to forgive me one more time?”

Robin blinked.

“Y-you mean...?”

No. Never. Impossible.

Chrom — damn that ridiculous man — smiled. “We’re both fools, aren’t we?”

Surely this was too good to be true.

“But... I’m a...”

Chrom cut him off again. “You’ve managed so far. I can’t say I’m entirely comfortable with that, and chances are I never will be, but we’ll find a way to make things work. No one else needs to know. Didn’t you say, ‘Where you go, I go’?”

This couldn’t be real. It was incredible. But if it was a dream, he would cling onto it even after he woke up.

Robin rushed Chrom and wrapped his arms around the man's waist, and sobbed in euphoria. He buried his face into his chest, and his voice was muffled by the blue shirt he was staining red.

“Thank you!”

After a moment, Chrom started gently patting him on the head. Though awkward, the gesture was sincere, and that was all Robin needed. An overjoyed laugh erupted from him, and it probably sounded a little unhinged. But the entire situation they were in was insane.

He could stay. Chrom trusted him just as he trusted Chrom. It wouldn’t be easy, but they’d make it work. He could stay!

“Unglaublich...”

Robin turned to Rosewald, who had some sort of small, wistful smile on the unconcealed half of his face.

He then knelt to pick up the Levin sword, inspected the lightning-shaped blade for only a moment, before his eyes met Robin’s. He threw it towards the half-ghoul, and the Levin sword began sparking with golden electricity as soon as it met his grip. It responded so eagerly to Robin’s mana, he felt sorely tempted to release a bolt right then and there.

Chrom shifted behind him when Rosewald approached, Robin's coat neatly folded in his arms. As he handed it to the younger ghoul, he said in Chon'sin, “It seems we must part ways. I can only thank you for placing your trust in me, Robin Kamishiro. It has been an honour to fight at your side.“

He stepped back and took a deep bow of gratitude, back horizontal to the ground.

”I should thank you, too,“ Robin answered with a bow of his own, Levin sword, coat, and its contents clutched tightly to his chest, ”for your aid in this campaign, your information, and your loyalty to our cause.“

“I shall return to Chon'sin,” the purple-haired man mused aloud as he rose. “I know a place Master Shuu frequented where I might find aid in getting shelter and territory. And if I see Ri'ze Kamishiro, I shall point her to you.”

Robin fought his body's desire to well up again. “Thank you very much. Farewell.”

After a glance at the humans present, Rosewald bowed to them all once more.

“Lebewohl. Until we meet again.”

* * *

PG struggled to stand from the rubble, grunting as he straightened and stretched, removing sprains from his back with a satisfying pop. He took off his mask. His face was marked with a mole just beneath his right eye, and he shook out his chin-length, black hair parted on the right and covering the left of his face.

Humming, he brushed off his flamboyant dress robes, and watched the victors disappear upon the horizon, including the half-ghoul with Ri’ze’s kagune.

Spinning his jester mask upon the tip of his finger, Sou’ta smiled maliciously.

Because he knew the last laugh belonged to them, the Pierrot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo... I’m not dead. Just unreliable af.
> 
> I'm sorry.
> 
> But with two additional chapters, we have finally reached the end of the rewritten fic!
> 
> I'm going to focus a little on the peace the Shepherds have brought. Some events from the Fire Emblem: Awakening Drama CD Volume 1 will be a part of it. Feel free to look up the translations on YouTube. No massive spoilers there!
> 
> From now on, everything in this fan fiction will be brand spanking new! I’d like to think I’ve improved since the wobbly beginning, and I hope you’ll all continue enjoying and supporting this fic with the same constructive feedback as you have until now (despite my non-existent update schedule)! Thank you so much!


	24. Dropped Box

In the middle of a cloudburst, a mother is killed.

The mother never harmed anyone.

The mother’s last words are cut off with her head.

The mother has a young daughter.

The daughter does not seek revenge.

The daughter cries.

And yet, helpless, bereaved of her only parent, she is hunted.

Because she was born a ghoul.

* * *

Despite the bitterness lingering in the wake of the war, and the news of Emmeryn's death weighing heavily on the people of Ylisse, the restoration efforts for Gangrel's invasion of Ylisstol had continued without pause. The khans of Regna Ferox stood by Prince Chrom in the aftermath, and offered all their manpower along with Plegia's reparations. While taking up the burden of the exalt, Chrom forswore the title, out of respect for his late sister. Even so, when much of the toll the war had taken on the people had been lifted, they pushed for him to take a wife. And finally, Chrom married Sumia.

Then, in spite of his gynophobia, Lon'qu was quick to propose to Princess Lissa, and became prince consort of Ylisse, heightening the public regard of hardy Feroxi ways.

Sully and Stahl were anointed as fully fledged paladins, their union not stopping them from training new recruits with iron fists.

Likewise, Cordelia became a falcon knight and new captain of the pegasus knights, Frederick supporting his wife as they trained recruits and Shepherds as a pair.

The sage Miriel accepted Vaike's surprising hand in marriage, supposedly to forward her studies in the sensation of love.

Maribelle took up the mantle of valkyrie to learn tomefaire in addition to healing, with all the help her husband, the sage Ricken, could offer.

The professional assassin Gaius chose Panne as his wife, and had since never been seen eating bunny-themed chocolate again.

While unmarried, Nowi was excited to express her juvenile adoration for the swordsman Donnel, who was more than happy to return it.

The often missed Kellam remained unmarried, and was promoted to general. Virion awaited the end of the marriage spree before journeying to Valm, whereas Gregor, Tharja, and Olivia had chosen to remain in Ylisse. Though she had expressed interest in exploring some ruins to the north of Plegia, the sorceress' treason would have made travelling there understandably risky. Not to mention that the crowning of a new Plegian king had followed the end of the war quite swiftly. He was apparently of royal blood, an heir who had been pushed aside by the Mad King, and a Grimleal priest, a title which doubtlessly sped up the process of his coronation, and the return of Plegia's theocracy. He had sent a letter of congratulation to Prince Chrom's marriage and the halidom's regained prosperity, which Robin had forced him to answer cordially.

The half-ghoul had immediately stepped down from the position of military tactician, though the damage he had avoided his entire life had been done. His had become a well-known name over the span of the war. Chrom had insisted he remain in the castle grounds despite Robin refusing a suite in the palace, so he'd chosen the job of librarian. Both prince and former tactician had been thankful for that suggestion of Libra's. It was a nice, quiet, discreet job, and he didn't require much pay.

It also granted him access to the greatest collection of literature in Ylisse. Epic, drama, lyric, theology, astrology, geography, history, and so on. He could finally spend time extensively learning about the lands he had forgotten, the gods he knew nothing of, and, with a tad of apprehension, the origin of ghouls.

As it turned out, there was only speculation, superstition, and expositions, some claiming ghouls did not exist at all. Learning of such folklore could be as disheartening as it could be hilarious. The theories people had come up with over the years ranged from justifiable to ludicrous, no matter how far or close to any possible truth they might have been. Most theories had the same genesis — that ghouls were related to the fell dragon. Some claimed man-eaters were the god's minions, others the consequence of the Hero-King slaying the dragon and allowing his power to project itself unto the earth and humans, and some had clear religious biases. Each theory was presented as fact.

In the time Robin had spent in Ylisstol, which included familiarising himself with the local ghoul community, he had learned actual facts.

For instance, that there were three stages of kagune formation.

During the formative stage, at the base where the Rc cells erupted from the kakuhou, they formed bonds with each other, organising themselves in the structure befitting their Rc type. This repeated action of the cells occurred instantaneously and lead to the next stage.

When fixating, the bonded Rc cells retained the resulted form for a certain length of time. The basic shape of the kagune was seen at this stage.

Finally, the bonds between the cells began to break apart, and the kagune disintegrated.

These stages ran continuously when the kagune was released, variations dependent on the Rc type’s properties and user's imagination. For instance, a koukaku, as the defensive type, would remain in the fixative stage for a much longer period of time others, to ensure solidity. Rinkaku, as the most malleable, spent a longer period in the formative, and an ukaku in the disintegrative stage. Hence why the latter burned through Rc faster than the others, and could give the impression of feathers or flames due to the constant disintegration. As the most stable, bikaku Rc remained in each stage for equal periods of time.

Libra and Chrom had yet to ask how Robin had learnt this, how he remained fed, or how he left at night unnoticed. He supposed it might have proven an awkward conversation for them. Unfortunately, they all knew it was only a matter of time.

The ghouls in Ylisse were generally peaceful — compared to Plegians — and were accepting of his unique state. At least, in the area he frequented. This had allowed him to establish a good hunting turf with busy back alleys at night, after a few skirmishes with less welcoming groups. Although, most of the troublesome ones had moved to Valm to reap the spoils of civil war or join gangs there. As a result, though the Commission of Counter Ghoul had bureaux worldwide, Dove patrols of Ylisstol were rare.

Regardless, the Shepherds who did not know he was a ghoul — thankfully, everyone who knew had kept their silence — had taken an interest in these books on mysterious, mystical, mythical ghouls, so Robin had done a lot of tidying with those tomes in particular. As he was looking for the correct shelf for _Grimaspawn: The Fell Dragon's Catalysts Of Annihilation_ by some long-past scholar, he heard the grand doors to the book haven open. By the smells and footfalls, he surmised Chrom and Sumia.

Once he'd pushed the book into its correct spot, he hurried through the ceiling-high aisles back to his reception desk, throwing a cheerful greeting to the newlyweds.

"Hello, Robin," Sumia returned, Chrom giving him a friendly nod. They were both dressed in a manner befitting their new stations, with the woman in an ornate lavender dress with puffy sleeves and a high belt, and the prince in royal blue robes he doubtlessly found extremely stifling. It was still so strange to see him without Falchion at his hip or his Brand uncovered.

Sumia placed the final part of the _Wyvern Wars_ series on the desk. Robin marked it as returned on his list and moved it to the small stack of fiction books needing to be replaced where they belong.

"You raced through this series," he commented.

She grinned. "Yes, well, you liked _Terror at High Noon_ , too, right? It's such a shame the series is finished, though."

"I'm guessing Takatsuki still doesn't tickle your fancy?"

She shook her head. "Gods, no. Cordelia recommended a romantic comedy to me, so I’ll have a look around for that."

"Not even _Monochrome Rainbow_?" Robin pouted theatrically. "You know where they are." As she left, he looked to Chrom. "Finally got a bit of time off?"

He groaned, "Yeah, finally. One of the councilmen was absent today, as well, which slowed down some of the processes."

Robin shrugged, gathering a stack of books on the history of Altea (Ylisse's mother nation, from the Hero-King's era), and moving on to the correct shelf in the far back of the library, lit up nicely by a tall window at the end of the aisle. Chrom followed.

"What about that investigation Lon'qu and the others went on?" he asked.

"They haven't returned yet, but I wouldn't worry. They can handle any danger."

The council had been receiving rumours of Risen sightings, so Robin had recommended they dispatch a team lead by Lon'qu and Cordelia, along with Gaius, Tharja, Nowi, and Lissa, to scout the area and, if necessary, rid it of any undead. It was one of Chrom's requests Robin was more than happy to advise him on, despite having stepped down from the position of tactician. As of then, he was their best and most trusted. Any others who could have taken the position had died during Gangrel's invasion.

Robin focused on replacing the last of the tomes before returning his attention to conversation.

"You're right. I just don't like not being able to see what they're doing... That sounds kind of possessive out loud," he chuckled at himself.

Just as Chrom was about to respond, Robin heard it. A strange, muffled, cryptic sound.

“Quiet,” he hissed at him. The prince reeled.

Rhythmic, wet contracting.

“Robin, why—“

Tiny, guttural.

“Shh!”

What was that sound?

Robin stepped away from the shelf and cocked his head in its direction. It wasn’t from a window or door. It hadn’t started when he’d been putting books away, nor had he noticed it when Chrom had arrived, but shortly after Sumia— What was it?

He listened again, picking up more as he made his way between the aisles towards the source of that bizarre noise. He could hear Chrom following. His large lungs inhaling and exhaling. Sumia paging books and the swishing of her robes. Their movements, footsteps, breathing, intestines undulating and hearts beating—

He stopped before the princess consort. She held a book against her chest in surprise, gaze flicking between Robin and her husband.

“A heartbeat,” murmured the ghoul.

And it wasn’t from anyone’s chest, but Sumia’s distended abdomen.

After a couple more beats, Chrom started laughing. Robin continued to stare at Sumia’s gut, where a little foetal heart was beating.

“Yeah.” Chrom made his way around Robin and wrapped an arm around his confused wife. He was grinning ear to ear. “You can hear our baby’s heartbeat.”

Sumia understood and started giggling, too.

“Congratulations,” he finally said. The word felt empty on its own, so he awkwardly commented, “You’re going to be parents now...”

The prince chuckled nervously. “Gods, it's nerve-wracking...”

“You have Sumia and all the Shepherds’ support," Robin reassured. "You've taken so well to being ruler already. You'll be fine.”

The doors to the library opened again, so Robin hurried back to his desk before he sensed his guests.

"Oh, Gaius! Cordelia! Welcome back. Nice to see you again, Fredericson."

The ginger assassin was garbed in black, with a long scarf to hide his face if need be, and he carried curved knives for easy reach on his belt and vambraces, amongst the sweets and lollies. He also had a bulging satchel slung from his shoulder. Cordelia wore the same kind of armour Phila had — a golden breastplate, tassets, and vambraces — only the sash beneath was a rose pink instead of pale blue like her predecessor's. Sumia's new falcon knight uniform was the same. Frederick had not changed a bit. Despite having married Cordelia, he remained oriented towards strict protocol, wariness, and Chrom.

"If only you would stop calling me that," he groaned at the nickname. In the year it had been since Robin had started calling him that — for no reason whatsoever —, he'd already given up.

"Hey, Bubbles, Blue, Stumbles. Just got back," Gaius greeted.

Cordelia excused herself and went to find Sumia, dodging Chrom as he joined the gathered men. Frederick straightened after a bow to him.

The prince nodded to Gaius. "Sorry for making you do all the work. How was it?"

The assassin crossed his arms. "Completely clear. Not a trace of Risen anywhere."

"Huh? Really?" Robin questioned.

Frederick's worry lines deepened. "Did someone else already defeat them?"

Chrom shook his head, a hand on his chin. "They are strong enemies. I find it difficult to believe anyone other than the Shepherds who could dispatch them that cleanly."

Their prophetic friend Marth probably could have, but though the rumours did not specify the exact number of Risen, they did say it was high. Too high for a single human to handle. Robin found himself blindly wondering, hoping it could be his mother, but the chances were slim. At this point, Rosewald may have only just arrived wherever in Chon'sin he had wanted to go. His mother might not have even been in his path. And then, of course, he had to consider the return trek. There were too many unlikelihoods. No one could have been there to dispatch those risen who wouldn't have been involved in the war, that much was for certain.

"Then, could the rumour itself have been untrue?" he asked the others.

"But who would benefit from spreading such false rumours?" Frederick retorted. Again, too many unknowns.

"There weren't even traces of Risen footprints or that dark, rotten smoke they belch," Gaius continued. "Instead of thinking they were destroyed, it might be more accurate to say they weren't there in the first place."

The great knight made a pensive hum. "I see. Whatever the case, it seems we must determine the origin of the rumours." He straightened. "Right. I shall investigate."

Robin eyed him. That seemed to have been a rather quick decision, and he doubted it was without reason. "Do you have a plan, Frederick?"

"Yes. Or rather, the beginning of one. Milord, Robin, would you leave this matter to me for the time being?"

"Alright. It's in your hands. Just don't push yourself too much," warned his liege.

"Thank you, milord." Frederick bowed, then turned to the assassin. "Gaius, I apologise. I know you've just returned, but if I may..."

"Yeah, sure," he drawled. "I thought it would turn out like this."

The two then bade goodbye to them and left the library, shutting the door behind them.

Robin sighed. "Is it really alright to leave this to them?"

"It's no problem," Chrom replied. "In return, they will request our aid should they ever need it."

"I suppose." He only had one and half years of experience to go from.

Seeming to catch his drift, the prince asked, "Libra was your only friend before you lost your memory, right?"

"Hm. Certainly my only human friend. I think he mentioned I knew some people in Chon'sin." At Chrom's surprised look, he mouthed 'ghoul'. The look fell.

"That so... And have you finished looking through everything yet?"

"Not quite. Libra said he's bringing the last of my mother's possessions this evening. There can’t be much left, though."

"That's great!" Sumia chimed in. She and Cordelia walked up to the desk, and Robin wrote down which book she was borrowing.

"I don't suppose any of your memory's come back yet?" asked the redhead, with caution.

Robin forced a laugh. "I'm pretty sure any news like that would spread fast. I've resigned myself to having a lost childhood by now." At the silence, he looked up to the humans, all regarding him with some measure of pity. "Hey, it's fine. All the more room for new memories!"

Clearly unconvinced, they had the tact to not broach the subject again.

* * *

Gaius followed Frederick into a room on one of the higher castle floors. A single long window lit a surprisingly simple desk and chairs, neatly arranged and completely spotless. It only occurred to him then that this rather barren room had to be the man’s office, or something of the sort.

Whatever the case, Gaius had to commend Frederick's choice as he noticed the thickness of the walls, and gave one a couple of knocks.

“Huh. A multi-layered stone wall. You’re as wary as ever.”

“One cannot be too careful,” Frederick said as he sat at the desk, interlacing his fingers. “Now, shall we discuss the rest?”

“Like I said before, there was absolutely no signs of Risen,” he drawled, and sat. “When we got to the scene, we didn’t find anything, and we came back at once."

Frederick leaned forward. "But there is more, correct?"

Gaius smirked. “Heh. Nothing gets past you. But I’m not getting paid enough to say that much.”

His eyes flashed. “How dare you...” He crossed his arms. “Very well. How much do you want?”

The assassin laughed. He grabbed one of his lollies, unwrapped it, and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. "I’m joking. I’d never hear the end of this from Bubbles."

Frederick nodded, unperturbed. "And so we speak within this room, so that word of this conversation will reach no one else. Only the two of us shall know."

"You think we’ve got a mole?"

"No. I will give milord and Robin the full details of the investigation, but I will not inform them of your movements. That is all."

Gaius leaned back into his seat. "My movements?"

Frederick nodded. "In truth, incidents like this have occurred several times."

"Meaning?"

"Lately, we have sent out soldiers in response to reports of Risen sightings, but each time, they have found nothing. On multiple occasions."

"Have you told Blue and Bubbles?"

"Of course. We have also deployed a number of spies to investigate."

"So you want to deploy me too? Without telling Blue?" Gaius stared at him with scepticism. "You, the ever-loyal retainer?"

Frederick shifted. "Gaius," he said in a tone demanding complete attention, "in my opinion, there is something sinister about this."

"Sinister?"

"It may be of little consequence compared to the war with Plegia, and is unlikely to result in such widespread suffering. But only a handful of people within Ylisse know of the Risen. What would anyone have to gain from claiming they had appeared?"

"So, it was a trap?"

Frederick gave an ambivalent hum. "I do not yet have proof. However, Prince Chrom is newly wedded and the halidom is in a state of celebration. I believe I, at least, must remain focused."

"Such dedication. Well, fine." Gaius crossed his arms behind his head. "I got it. You want me to look into who laid that trap, what they wanted to catch, and what they’re scheming, right? Without anyone else knowing."

Frederick chuckled mirthlessly. "You’re quick on the uptake."

Spinning the lollipop with his tongue, Gaius looked the other in the eye. "Since you’re so worried, I’ll tell you the rest of the story from before."

"Yes. Please do."

With a nod, he explained, "The place was a long way from the nearest village. You’d have to climb the mountain for a few hours to finally get there. If travellers and pedlars got caught up there, there’s no way they could escape. In other words, they wouldn’t be able to report any sightings. The way I see it, there’s absolutely nowhere the rumors could’ve come from."

Frederick smiled. "How admirable, Gaius. You’ve already thought this through."

"This is the important part. There were no traces of the Risen, but when I looked around, this was caught in the bushes." Gaius reached into his satchel and pulled out the offending object — a dark cloak. He placed it on the desk. “Take a look.”

Frederick rose from his seat and unfolded the cloth on the desk, observing its make and feeling the material.

“Purple... The robe of a dark mage.” He checked its edges. “And moreover, this design is quite distinctive.” Spreading out the hood and upper back of the material, he gasped at the sight of the symbol etched into the violet. "This is…"

The six eyes of the Mark of Grima stared back at him.

Gaius leaned back. “Yeah. Looks like you were right to worry.”

Frederick sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Well done, Gaius. With this, I have a better grasp of the situation.”

“Nimbleness and caution. Those're my specialties.”

“Yes. I know that well, and that’s why I’m counting on you to assist with the investigation.” Frederick sat back down. “You’ll accept, won’t you?”

“Yeah.” Gaius stood and waved over his shoulder as he left. “I’m already along for the ride. Give me some high-class tarts in exchange and we’ll call it even.”

Whatever sound of resigned frustration Frederick responded with was lost behind closed doors. Seeing it had grown dark outside, the assassin stretched his arms behind his head before heading down the halls.

“Gaius, another moment, please?”

He turned towards the speaker, sucking on the lollipop. "What's up, Blue?"

Chrom approached, rubbing his nape. "Well, you must have traveled a lot in your line of work, yes?"

"Sure did! Us thieves tend to outstay our welcome in a hurry."

Blue nodded. “The reason I ask is that I've had little chance to see the world properly. I've journeyed with the Shepherds and on diplomatic business, but that's pretty much it. And frankly, one majestic court looks very much like another.” He shifted. “I've often wondered what it would be like to roam the world free of royal burdens.”

Gaius couldn’t help but grin. "Ha! You royals up in your pointy towers really don't have a clue! You think us commoners are free to just spend our days sauntering along! Think we pick daisies and gaze at tourist attractions and eat bonbons all day!"

“Look, that's not what I was implying at all,” Chrom said indignantly. “And I think you know it.”

The assassin crossed his arms. "So, what's the problem? Tired of silk pants and the undying adoration of the masses?"

"I try to appreciate my situation, but being a royal can be incredibly...stifling. It's a comfortable prison, true, but a prison nonetheless."

"Sounds like a serious case of not being able to count your blessings."

“It's true — I'm never hungry, I've a hot bath and a warm bed, people leap to my aid...” Chrom lowered his gaze. “Perhaps you're right. What right have I to complain of such a life?”

"Bingo." Gains turned to leave, paused, and turned back around. "You got plans for the evening? After supper, I mean."

"I have to fill out financial agreements and inspect the last of the restoration processes."

"Booooooring. What about tomorrow?"

After a moment of thought, the prince recited, "I meet with the council to discuss trade over the winter, then about—“

"Man! It's all work and no play for our fair prince, isn't it?"

"...What exactly do you want, Gaius? If it's important, I'll carve out some time."

“A single evening is all it'll take!” he proclaimed with a conspiratorial smirk. “You just tell me when you're ready.”

* * *

Night had already fallen when Robin entered the Shepherds’ garrison. The beginning of winter had brought a fresh chill to the air, and the warmth from the fireplace inside was a welcome change in temperature.

“Libra’s already upstairs. And Panne said dinner will be ready in about ten minutes," said Ricken as he paged through his book, seated on the worn sofa. He thanked him and hurried upstairs.

For the sake of privacy, Libra had insisted upon he and Robin seeing if they can jog anything with just the two of them present. They had no way of knowing how he would react to regaining any of his memories; if he would blather them out loud against his will, fall silent, cry out in pain or pass out. Of course, this was also in case Robin remembered anything which could incriminate him. The others probably suspected as much, though they didn’t know what such a memory could be, and respectfully allowed the two these moments.

As some of the married Shepherds had moved out, he finally had a shared room with Libra, who’d left the cathedral in favour of staying with him. When he opened the door, he was met with a sight he still wasn’t used to seeing. Bookshelves of his and his mother’s collection lined the walls. A small desk was covered in more tomes and, admittedly, useless battle strategies. Libra’s easel stood next to it, palette and paints resting on the stool next to it. Libra sat on his bed, opposite Robin’s, and the half-ghoul shut the door and hurried to his side.

He looked at the war monk, asking a silent question, but the blond surprised him by wrapping his arms around his brother. After a light squeeze, he pulled back, and presented him with the items he’d brought.

“There was nothing left but these two,” he said with regret, handing Robin the first.

It was a book in Chon'sin. _Dropped Box_ , by Sen Takatsuki.

“Your mother commented on liking this book in particular. The protagonist has a strong desire for a father...if I remember correctly.”

A brief look over the summary would not confirm that, but he didn’t try to look further into it. None of Takatsuki’s books so far had brought anything back, and he doubted this one would.

It did, however, make the final item all the more curious.

It was an actual box. A rather large, flat steel box, doubtlessly quite expensive. It was a little worn and scratched beneath the dust, but still in relatively good condition. Whether it was used for jewellery or documents could be anyone’s guess, but whatever it was must have been valuable enough to warrant a keyhole.

“Do you have any idea what’s inside?” Robin asked, not daring to jostle, much less shake the box for fear of breaking its contents as he carefully picked it up. It was a little heavier than he expected. A bit of cautious prodding revealed it was, of course, locked.

Libra’s answer was equally predictable. “I don’t. I remember seeing it in Ri’ze’s room, but I’ve never seen it opened.”

“And the key?”

“She must still have it.”

Robin stared at the two items longingly. “And there’s nothing else? At all?”

He saw the blond hair sway.

“I’m truly sorry, Robin,” he whispered. “I wish there was more to show you, but—“

“It’s alright,” Robin insisted. “I already told Cordelia today that I’ve long accepted nothing’s coming back. I wasn’t too hopeful.”

The half-ghoul gave the mysterious box a sniff, but still couldn’t decipher anything new about it. He stood and set it on his desk, then knocked on different parts of the wood, listening to the echoes. Muffled. There weren’t many hard objects and trinkets inside. A padlock he could have broken off, but his mother had been smart in getting a box with just a keyhole. He wasn't about to ask Gaius to pick it open either, not knowing what information could be inside.

“This is intriguing, but... I’m not about to break it open. It might be something private of my mother’s. In fact, it’s almost certainly that.”

“Of course,” Libra agreed. “I suppose that’s another thing to ask her. I’m afraid I can offer nothing more that might loosen your amnesia.”

With nothing else to say, Robin hummed in acknowledgement and picked up _Dropped Box_ — a truly coincidental find — and moved to place it in the bookshelf.

“Is there truly no recollection?” Libra asked into the silence. “What about your dreams? You’re restless in your sleep.”

Robin slid _Dropped Box_ into place.

He hadn’t dreamed much during the war. So exhausted by the end of every day, he’d simply passed out whenever his head hit the pillow (or desk). With a real bed all to himself, he should have been able to sleep more peacefully. But with his mundane new job, it seemed his mind had decided to grow even more restless.

He had dreams of faceless people, unknown wavering existences, not hearing their names, not knowing his voice, not knowing where he was or what he was doing, of waking up knowing nothing, without Chrom and Lissa to guide him from that spring field. There was no conflict. No blood, no sweat, no tears. His dreams were quiet, uneventful, peaceful.

They chilled him to the bone.

But, somehow, the nightmare was worse. It was the same one that had been reoccurring for as long as he could remember. Or at least the feeling it left behind was. Sometimes he killed someone. He never remembered who. Sometimes it was two people conversing, unknown in a foreign place. Sometimes he heard several voices at once, each a perverse twist of something that should have been recognisable or familiar — he knew. He hadn’t awoken from this nightmare with a scream since the morning of Emmeryn’s death, but that surely wouldn’t last. Not when he woke up feeling the cold hands of death and the burn of mana in his own.

“Post-war,” he replied instead. “We all know it.”

He didn’t look to see, but he knew Libra wouldn’t believe that. It occurred to Robin that he didn’t know when this compulsive lying had started. Or had it never been different?

The war monk sighed heavily, and stood. “Come. We mustn’t keep the others waiting for us to join them. Let us have dinner.”

Robin’s stomach growled.

Libra took a deep breath, then kept walking.


End file.
